Cyriack, this three years’ day these eyes, though clear, <br />To outward view, of blemish or of spot, <br />Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot; <br />Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear <br />Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, <br />Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not <br />Against Heaven’s hand or will, nor bate a jot <br />Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer <br />Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? <br />The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied <br />In liberty’s defence, my noble task, <br />Of which all Europe rings from side to side. <br />This thought might lead me through the world’s vain mask <br />Content, though blind, had I no better guide.<br /><br />John Milton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-same-2/
