Ode to my ‘flying glasses’:
O most precious spectacles, thou art fled!
Mine eyes, now prisoners to mist obscure,
Do mourn thy absence like the waning moon,
Deprived of night’s celestial glow impure.
What cruel fate hath snatched thee from my grasp,
And left my world to blur, a smudg’d dream?
Doth thou repose upon some velvet couch,
Or linger, hidden, by yon sunlit stream?
Thou faithful servants of vision’s grace,
Would I not clasp thee close to mine own face?
Return, I beseech thee, to thine rightful throne,
Where thou dost reign o’er sight, by all well-known.
Without thee, truth is clouded, wisdom wanes,
And nature’s beauty hides from my heart’s gains.
So hear my plea, and hither swiftly glide,
That clarity and joy may soon abide.