Sonnet 57. You best discerned of my mind’s inward eyes

Michael Drayton (1563–1631)

[First printed in 1605 (No. 57), and in all later editions.]

YOU best discerned of my mind’s inward eyes,

And yet your graces outwardly Divine,

Whose dear remembrance in my bosom lies,

Too rich a relic for so poor a shrine.

You, in whom Nature chose herself to view,

When she, her own perfection would admire;

Bestowing all her excellence on you,

At whose pure eyes, LOVE lights his hallowed fire;

Even as a man that in some trance hath seen

More than his wondring utterance can unfold;

That, rapt in spirit, in better worlds hath been.

So must your praise distractedly be told!

Most of all short, when I would shew you most,

In your perfections so much am I lost.