William Shakespeare, Sonnet xxiv
Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath stell'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart. [*]
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
4
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where you true image pictur'd lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
8
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done;
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
12
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
They draw but what the see, know not the heart.
Notes
line 2: Table: so in All's Well That Ends Well:
" 'Twas pretty, though a plagueTable, though sometimes used in the sense of a picture, more commonly means the tabular surface upon which a picture is painted. [ Back to text ]
To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table."
Most notes to Shakespeare's sonnets are from Charles Knight's edition, but those in square brackets are mine.