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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 flow'r, 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 rud’st or gentlest sight,
The most sweet favor or deformèd’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 untrue.
Since I left you, I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts that I partly see where I’m going and partly don’t. For my vision doesn’t focus on the shapes of birds or flowers or anything else it lands on. My mind simply isn’t on the living things that my eyes show it, nor do I remember the things I see. For whether I see the rudest or gentlest sight, the sweetest-looking or the most deformed creature, the mountain or the sea, the day or the night, the crow or the dove, my vision shapes them so they look like you. Incapable of seeing anything else and filled with your image, my faithfulness to you is making me see everything wrongly.

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