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,

And perspective it is the painter's art.

For through the painter must you see his skill,

To find where your true image pictured lies;

Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,

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

Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;

Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art;

They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

我眼睛扮作畫家，把你的肖像

描畫在我的心版上，我的肉體

就是那嵌著你的姣顏的鏡框，

而畫家的無上的法寶是透視。

你要透過畫家的巧妙去發見

那珍藏你的奕奕真容的地方；

它長掛在我胸內的畫室中間，

你的眼睛卻是畫室的玻璃窗。

試看眼睛多么會幫眼睛的忙：

我的眼睛畫你的像，你的卻是

開向我胸中的窗，從那里太陽

喜歡去偷看那藏在里面的你。

可是眼睛的藝術終欠這高明：

它只能畫外表，卻不認識內心。