Since I left you, mine eye is my mind;
And that which governs me to go about
Doth part this function, and is partly blind,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird, of flower, or shape, which doth latch:
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
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Nor his own vision holds that it doth catch;
For it see the rudest or gentlest sight,
The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night,
The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature:
Incapable of more, replete with you,
My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue.
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