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 Heav'n's hand or will, not 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 talks 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/sonnet-xxii-to-cyriack-skinner/
