THANKS sweetest friend, who deckest me In shewing me mine own Deformitie. Alas, the eys ev'n of my Minde Though plac'd within, to things within are blinde; And, like those of my Body, on Externals spend their gazing selvs alone. Ay me, who thus become Abroad quicksighted, but stark blinde at home. 2 My faithfull eyes are those whereby The darkest bottom of my self I spy. What fools were Poets, who could finde No way but to conclude that Love is blinde! He who himself would right discover, The eys must borrow of a trusty Lover; Eys whence indeed those darts Of piercing fire flash forth which serch through hearts. 3 Dear Spie of me, thanks thanks again For this discovery; now me thinks 'tis plain How ougly I did muffled go In Melancholies veil. I know no Foe Whom more I hate than that black Witch, Yet much I love her too: Alas in such A snarled maze I move That heer I love my hate, & hate my love. 4 Inestimable Sentinel, Upon thy loving guard oh stand thou still: Give the alarm whenever thou These clowds discoverest gathering on my brow; And help me in the charge, that I May conquer by thy cheerfull bravery. This way, my better Heart, Be thou my Second, though my Self thou art. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GREEN MOUNTAIN IDYL by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE PRODIGAL SON by DAVID IGNATOW LET ME NOT LOSES MY DREAM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CANTICLE OF THE RACE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO MILITARY PROGRESS by MARIANNE MOORE DEDICATION OF THE FIRST SONNETS TO A FRIEND ... by GEORGE SANTAYANA |