Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd... (Sonnet XXIV) Lyrics

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 painter's art

For through the painter must you see his skill

To find where your true image pictur'd 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

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

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

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