Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled, <br />Thy beauty's form in table of my heart, <br />My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, <br />And perspective it is best painter's art. <br />For through the painter must you see his skill, <br />To find where your true image pictured lies, <br />Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, <br />That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes: <br />Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done, <br />Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me <br />Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun <br />Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; <br />Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, <br />They draw but what they see, know not the heart.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-24-mine-eye-hath-played-the-painter-and-hath-stelled/
