Wonder not, though I am blind,
For you must be
Dark in your eyes, or in your mind,
If, when you see
Her face, you prove not blind like me;
If the powerful beams that fly
From her eye,
And those amorous sweets that lie
Scatter'd in each neighbouring part,
Find a passage to your heart,
Then you'll confess your mortal sight
Too weak for such a glorious light:
For if her graces you discover,
You grow, like me, a dazzled lover;
But if those beauties you not spy,
Then are you blinder far than I.
Thomas Carew.