Methinks a black patch blinds my mind’s eye…

Methinks a black patch blinds my mind’s eye,

But, quoth I, ‘methinks’? how compass think I,

If my mind’s eye be out? Once thought I loved,

Baseless thought! – by no pivotal motion moved,

But, come, come, soft, mine outward eye views, though mind’s not:

The wench’s garish sun, that by eclipse of age will not blot;

Wherefore then by my mind, whose light mine eyne doth bewray,

How dark which possess full the full tribute of day?!

O true-fair she is ‘gainst my mind’s dark claim,

Surer yet ever than deft archery made aim!


No princess she, to rise by her father’s, like sails rigging,

But in her breed golded thrones, not thron’d by breeding:

Her triumph’s her own, more glorious than Juno’s,

Nor no thanks owes to the goddess for the strange-got excess she owes!

More god than mortals, less mortal than gods,

‘Pon her worth empiricurious conspectuses cross at odds!

Such curio of he rank not please, rather inebriate;

Nor such storminess of sweetness, where’s spleeny mood might’st placate?

This stoutly nature, whiles the wild world wax winter’d,

But the purer grows, not frailty by Season’s rough hand splinter’d!


Thus her reign not summer, nor winter, autumn, nor springtide knows,

But ‘gainst blasts of cold and violence of heat freshly grows!


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By Sydney Chesterfield on June 12, 2016 · Posted in Braindrops On Yellow Leaves, Literary, Poetry, Trends

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