Fayre eyes, the myrrour of my mazed hart, <br />what wondrous vertue is contaynd in you <br />the which both lyfe and death forth fro[m] you dart <br />into the obiect of your mighty view? <br />For when ye mildly looke with louely hew, <br />then is my soule with life and loue inspired: <br />but when ye lowre, or looke on me askew <br />then doe I die, as one with lightning fyred. <br />But since that lyfe is more then death desyred, <br />looke euer louely, as becomes you best, <br />that your bright beams of my weak eies admyred, <br />may kindle liuing fire within my brest. <br />Such life should be the honor of your light, <br />such death the sad ensample of your might.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-vii-4/
