Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;
And that which governs me to go about
Doth part his function and is partly blind,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird of flower, or shape, which it doth latch:
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch:
For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight,
The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night,
The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature:
Incapable of more, replete with you,
My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue
Anonymous
The cryptic title gives no clue as to the theme of the sonnet and the whole thing is obscure and sounds rather amateurish. It seems to be exploring the extent to which the poet's soul has been invaded by the images and the presence of the beloved one. To such an extent is he infected that the things his eye sees are no longer recorded as such, but are transmuted into the lovely features of the youth, whether they be seas, mountains, day, night, crows or doves.
