To Imagination <br /> <br />Whilst yet mine Eyes do surfeit with delight, <br />My woeful Heart, imprison'd in my breast, <br />Wisheth to be transformed to my sight, <br />That it, like these, by looking might be blest. <br />But whilst my Eyes thus greedily do gaze, <br />Finding their objects over-soon depart, <br />These now the other's happiness do praise, <br />Wishing themselves that they had been my Heart, <br />That Eyes were Heart, or that the Heart were Eyes, <br />As covetous the other's use to have; <br />But finding Nature their request denies, <br />This to each other mutually they crave: <br />That since the one cannot the other be, <br />That Eyes could think, or that my Heart could see.<br /><br />Michael Drayton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxxiii-whilst-yet-mine-eyes/
