20201227 Sunday
Sonnet 24
Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath steel’d,
Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein ’tis held,
And perspective it is best painter’s art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictur’d lies,
Which in my bosom’s shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn 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.
Beget /bɪgét/ もうける past begot
In heathen /híːð(ə)n / 異教徒の
Meet The 7-Year-Old Girl Who Goes Toe To Toe With George Clooney In The Midnight Sky
go toe-to-toe with 肩を並べる
The Who I’m free
