The Marigold So Likes The Louely Sunne Poem by Thomas Watson

The Marigold so likes the louely Sunne,
That when he settes the other hides her face,
And when he ginnes his morning course to runne,
She spreades abroad, and showes her greatest grace;
So shuts or sprouts my ioy, as doth this flow're,
When my Sheesunne doth either laugh or lowre.
When shee departes my fight, I die for paine,
In closing up my hearte with cloudie care ;
And yet when once I viewe her face againe,
I streight reuiue, and ioye my wonted fare :
Therewith my heart ofte saies, when all is done,
That heau'n and earth haue not a brighter funne.
A iealous thought yet puttes my minde in feare,
Left lone him selfe descending from his throne
Shoulde take by stealth and place her in his spheare,
Or in some higher globe to rule alone : [their praye
Which if he should, the heau'ns might boast
But I (alas) might curse yat dismall day.