Classic Poem

The golden sun that brings the day,
And lends men light to see withal,
In vain doth cast his beams away,
Where they are blind on whom they fall:
There is no force in all his light
To give the mole a perfect sight.

But thou, my sun, more bright than he
That shines at noon in summer tide,
Hast given me light and power to see;
With perfect skill my sight to guide.
'Till now I lived as blind as mole,
That hides her head in earthly hole.

I heard the praise of beauty's grace,
Yet deemed it nought but Poet's skill;
I gazed on many a lovely face,
Yet found I none to bind my will:
Which made me think, that beauty bright
Was nothing else but red and white.

But now thy beams have cleared my sight,
I blush to think I was so blind:
Thy flaming eyes afford me light,
That beauty's blaze each where I find:
And yet these Dames, that shine so bright,
Are but the shadow of thy light.