Cælia, thy bright Angel's face   
may be cal'd a heav'nly place:
the whiteness of the starry way
nature did on thy forehead lay:
but thine eyes have brightness woon,
not from Stars, but from the Sun:
the blushing of the Morn
in thy rosie cheek is worn,
the Musick of the heav'nly Sphears 
in thy soul's winning voyce appears:
happy were I, had I (like Atlas) grace,
so faire a heav'n within mine Arms t'imbrace.