Sonnet 35

MY hungry eyes, through greedy covetize,

Still to behold the object of theyr paine:

With no contentment can themselves suffize,

But having pine, and having not complayne.

For lacking it, they cannot lyfe sustayne,

And having it, they gaze on it the more:

In theyr amazement lyke Narcissus vaine

Whose eyes him starved: so plenty makes me poore.

Yet are myne eyes so filled with the store

Of that fayre sight, that nothing else they brooke:

But loathe the things which they did like before,

And can no more endure on them to looke.

All this worlds glory seemeth vayne to me,

And all theyr shewes but shadowes, saving she.