MY hungry eyes through greedy covetise,
still to behold the object of their pain:
with no contentment can themselues suffice,
but having, pine, and having not, complain.
For lacking it they cannot life sustain,
and having it they gaze on it the more:
in their amazement like Narcissus vain
whose eyes him starv'd: so plenty makes me poor.
Yet are mine eyes so filled with the store
of that fair sight, that nothing else they brook,
but loathe the things which they did like before,
and can no more endure on them to look.
All this world's glory seemeth vain to me,
and all their shows but shadows saving she.
2006-12-12
05:09:55
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1 answers
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