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CXLVIII.
O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have
no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if they have,
where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what
they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false
eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye
is not so true as all men's 'No.'
How can it? O, how
can Love's eye be true,
That is so vex'd with
watching and with tears?
No marvel then, though I
mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not till heaven
clears.
O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me
blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should
find.
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