Sonnet 24
b'
Mine eye hath play\\u2019d the painter and hath stell\\u2019d
Thy beauty\\u2019s form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein \\u2019tis held,
And perspective it is best painter\\u2019s art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictur\\u2019d lies,
Which in my bosom\\u2019s shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, wherethrough the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee.
\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 They draw but what they see, know not the heart.