YOU must not wonder, though you think it strange, <br />To see me hold my louring head so low; <br />And that mine eyes take no delight to range <br />About the gleams which on your face do grow. <br />The mouse which once hath broken out of trap, <br />Is seldom 'ticed with the trustless bait, <br />But lies aloof for fear of more mishap, <br />And feedeth still in doubt of deep deceit. <br />The scorched fly, which once hath 'scaped the flame, <br />Will hardly come again to play with fire: <br />Whereby I learn that grievous is the game <br />Which follows fancy dazzled by desire: <br />So that I wink or else hold down my head, <br />Because your blazing eyes my bale* have bred.<br /><br />George Gascoigne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-that-he-looked-not-upon-her/
