To The Same To The Same |
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To The SameTo The Same
To The Same
Cyriack, this three years` day these eyes, though clear,
To outward view, of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot;
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven`s hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied
In liberty`s defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the world`s vain mask
Content, though blind, had I no better guide.
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