Ode VII: Unhappy Eyes

Close your lids, unhappy eyes,
From the sight of such a change:
Love hath learned to despise;
Self-conceit hath made him strange:
Inward now his sight he turneth
With himself in love he burneth.

If abroad he beauty spy,
As by chance he looks abroad;
Or it is wrought by his eye,
Or forced out by painter's fraud:
Save himself, none fair he deemeth,
That himself too much esteemeth.

Coy disdain hath kindness' place,
Kindness forced to hide his head:
True desire is counted base;
Hope with hope is hardly fed:
Love is thought a fury needless,
He that hath it shall die speedless.

Then, mine eyes, why gaze you so?
Beauty scorns the tears you shed;
Death you seek to end my woe,
Oh! that you of death were sped:
But with Love hath Death conspired
To kill none whom Love hath fired.