Author: Henry David Thoreau (---.spacegate.com.ua)
Date: 01-26-06 05:19
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I never intended to make art.
Walt Disney, when his work was displayed at the Metropolitan
Museum of Art
Life is too deep for words, so don\'t try to describe it, just live it.
- C.S. Lewis, In Humanity
O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight;
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love\'s eye is not so true as all men\'s: no,
How can it? O! how can Love\'s eye be true,
That is so vexed with watching and with tears?
No marvel then, though I mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears.
O cunning Love! with tears thou keep\'st me blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey\'d,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers\' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn\'d,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn\'d,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv\'d;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv\'d:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty\'s summer dead.