Classic Poem

How is 't, my Soul, that thou giv'st eyes their sight
To view their objects, yet hast none
To see thine own?
Earth's, air's, heaven's beauties they discern: their light
Fair flowers admires, their several dresses,
Their golden tresses;
The lily, rose, the various tulip, scorning
The pride of princes in their choice adorning.

They joy to view the air's painted nations:
The peacock's train which the head outvies
With fairer eyes,
And emulates the heavenly constellations;
The ostrich whose fair plume embraves
Kings, captains, slaves;
The halcyons whose Triton-bills appease
Curled waves, and with their eggs lay stormy seas.

Pilots' fixed eyes observe the arctic Bear
With all her unwashed starry trains
In heavenly plains;
Night-travellers behold the moon to steer
Her ship, sailing, while Eol raves,
Through cloudy waves;
Our less world's suns with pleasure view the light
Which gives all beauties beauty, them their sight.

Thou that giv'st sight to clay, to blackness light,
How art so dull, so dim in duty
To view his beauty
Who quickens every life, lights every light?
His height those eagles' eyes surpasses:
Thou want'st thy glasses:
Take up that perspective and view those streams
Of light, and fill thy waning orb with beams.

Then see the flowers clad in his liveries,
And from his cheek and lovely face
Steal all their grace:
See fowls from him borrow their braveries,
And all their feather-painted dresses
From his fair tresses:
See stars, and moon, the sun and all perfection
Beg light and life from his bright eyes' reflection.

Look on his lips: heaven's gate there open lies,
Thence that grace-breathing Spirit blows,
Thence honey flows.
Look on his hands: the world's full treasuries.
Fix all thy looks his heart upon:
Love's highest throne.
And, when thy sight that radiant beauty blears
And dazzles thy weak eyes, see with thine ears.