O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,

Which have no correspondence with true sight !

Or, if they have, where is my judgement fled,

That censures falsely what they see aright ?

If that be fair whereupon 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 vexed 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.