Shakespeare Sonnet 113

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Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;

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And that which governs me to go about

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Doth part his function and is partly blind,

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Seems seeing, but effectually is out;

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For it no form delivers to the heart

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Of bird of flower, or shape, which it doth latch:

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Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,

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Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch:

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For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight,

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The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,

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The mountain or the sea, the day or night,

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The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature:

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Incapable of more, replete with you,

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My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue.