Sonnet No.24

     Mine eye  hath play'd the painter  and hath stell'd,
     Thy beauty's form in table of my heart,
     My body  is the frame wherein `tis held,
     And perspective it is best painters art,
     For through the painter must you see his skill,
     To find where your true image pictured lies,
     Which in my bosom's shop  is hanging still,
     That hath his windows  glazed with thine eyes .
     Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done,
     Mine eyes  have drawn thy shape, and thine  for me,
     Are windows to my breast, where through the sun
     Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee,
     Yet eyes  this cunning want to grace their art
     They draw but what they see, know not the heart.


   Return to the Sonnet Directory

Table of Contents / Related Topics