Oft have I mused the cause to find,
Why love in ladies' eyes doth dwell;
I thought, because himself was blind,
He looked that they should guide him well:
And sure his hope but seldom fails,
For love by ladies' eyes prevails.

But time, at last, hath taught me wit,
Although I bought my wit full dear;
For by her eyes my heart is hit,
Deep is the wound, though none appear:
Their glancing beams as darts he throws,
And sure he hath no shafts but those.

I mused to see their eyes so bright,
And little thought they had been fire;
I gazed upon them with delight,
But that delight hath bred desire:
What better place can love require,
Than that where grow both shafts and fire?