I now think Love is rather deaf than blind, <br /> For else it could not be <br /> That she, <br /> Whom I adore so much, should so slight me <br /> And cast my love behind. <br /> I'm sure my language to her was as sweet, <br /> And every close did meet <br /> In sentence of as subtle feet, <br /> As hath the youngest He <br /> That sits in shadow of Apollo's tree. <br /> O, but my conscious fears, <br /> That fly my thoughts between, <br /> Tell me that she hath seen <br /> My hundred of gray hairs, <br /> Told seven and forty years <br /> Read so much waste, as she cannot embrace <br /> My mountain belly and my rocky face; <br /> And all these through her eyes have stopp'd her ears.<br /><br />Benjamin Jonson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-picture-left-in-scotland-2/
