On his knees, with beating heart, oppressed, it seems to him that his mistress becomes transformed: "Stella, soveraigne of my joy,... Stella, starre of heavenly fire, Stella, load-starre of desire, Stella, in whose shining eyes Are the lights of Cupid's skies.... Stella, whose voice when it speakes Senses all asunder breakes; Stella, whose voice when it singeth, Angels to acquaintance bringeth."[321] These cries of adoration are like a hymn. Every day he writes thoughts of love which agitate him, and in this long journal of a hundred pages we feel the heated breath swell each moment. A smile from his mistress, a curl lifted by the wind, a gesture--all are events. He paints her in every attitude; he cannot see her too constantly. He talks to the birds, plants, winds, all nature. He brings the whole world to Stella's feet. At the notion of a kiss he swoons: "Thinke of that most gratefull time, When thy leaping heart will climbe, In my lips to have his biding. There those roses for to kisse, Which doe breath a sugred blisse, Opening rubies, pearles dividing."[322] "O joy, too high for my low stile to show: O blisse, fit for a nobler state than me: Envie, put out thine eyes, lest thou do see What Oceans of delight in me do flow. My friend, that oft saw through all maskes my wo, Come, come, and let me powre my selfe on thee; Gone is the winter of my miserie, My spring appeares, O see what here doth grow, For Stella hath with words where faith doth shine, Of her high heart giv'n me the monarchie: I, I, O I may say that she is mine."[323] There are Oriental splendors in the dazzling sonnet in which he asks why Stella's cheeks have grown pale: "Where be those Roses gone, which sweetned so our eyes? Where those red cheekes, with oft with faire encrease doth frame The height of honour in the kindly badge of shame? Who hath the crimson weeds stolne from my morning skies?"[324] As he says, his "life melts with too much thinking." Exhausted by ecstasy, he pauses; then he flies from thought to thought, seeking relief for his wound, like the Satyr whom he describes: "Prometheus, when first from heaven hie He brought downe fire, ere then on earth not seene, Fond of delight, a Satyr standing by, Gave it a kisse, as it like sweet had beene. "Feeling forthwith the other burning power, Wood with the smart with showts and shryking shrill, He sought his ease in river, field, and bower, But for the time his griefe went with him still."[325] At last calm returned; and whilst this calm lasts, the lively, glowing spirit plays like a flickering flame on the surface of the deep brooding fire. His love-songs and word-portraits, delightful pagan and chivalric fancies, seem to be inspired by Petrarch or Plato. We feel the charm and sportiveness under the seeming affectation: