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 glazed¹ with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn² 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.

我眼睛扮作画家，把你的肖像
描画在我的心版上，我的肉体
就是那嵌着你的姣颜的镜框，
而画家的无上的法宝是透视。
你要透过画家的巧妙去发见
那珍藏你的奕奕真容的地方；
它长挂在我胸内的画室中间，
你的眼睛却是画室的玻璃窗。
试看眼睛多么会帮眼睛的忙：
我的眼睛画你的像，你的却是
开向我胸中的窗，从那里太阳
喜欢去偷看那藏在里面的你。
　　可是眼睛的艺术终欠这高明：
　　它只能画外表，却不认识内心。