Classic Poem

33

Whilst yet mine Eyes doe surfet with Delight,
My wofull Heart, imprison'd in my Brest,
Wisheth to be transformed to my Sight,
That it, like those, by looking might be blest:
But whilst mine Eyes thus greedily doe gaze,
Finding their Objects over-soone depart,
These now the others Happinesse doe prayse,
Wishing themselves, that they had beene my Heart;
That Eyes were Heart, or that the Heart were Eyes,
As covetous the others use to have:
But finding Nature their request denyes,
This to each other mutually they crave;
 That since the one cannot the other bee,
 That Eyes could thinke of that my Heart could see.