When men writ poems and that of what they see,

They slightly err in and muse at all which they seeing, see’st;

For yet and still thy looking glass, that they would’st peere thy potters cast,

And be thy be’st being and stayeth fast,

To mo fitly sea that watery eye that ceased.

O’ what grace in as greatly lashed the eye

Which all their children by smartnesse try, triest;

Doe cast that line which brilliance blast,

For tears like waues to billow fast

Those healing rays of clean’st class

Shal surely see from highest Mast.

So two for my fairest one,

Left and Right O shining Sunne,

For wisdome lighteth the light and dark is done;

Cause darkest light is bright light to Sonne

With eies seeing, clear doe see’st,

Men wil thus, and onely than, rub their eies and offer such worthy crys;

Which now art merely contentious sighs, than sane, but now so vane

Of dogs that devour the fairest liues.

So long four days and prose and prize

For evenings rest so morning rise!

So then thy words like heauen flies

To ears so sweet, and hearing meet;

See beauty being a sweet retreat from the same beautiest being

that be the best defeete

To that precious glass that vanish fast with men and poems see’st, seeing.

                                                               
           -Written by Christopher Vaughn Messer