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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374444" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet LXXXIII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374444" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">MY hungry eyes, through greedy couetize,<br>Still to behold the obiect of theyr payne:<br>with no contentment can themselues suffize,<br>but hauing pine, and hauing not complayne<br>For lacking it, they cannot lyfe sustayne,<br>and seeing it, they gaze on it the more:<br>in theyr amazement lyke Marcissus vayne<br>whose eyes him staru'd: so plenty makes me pore.<br>Yet are myne eyes so filled with the store<br>of that fayre sight, that nothing else they brooke:<br>but loath the things which they did like before,<br>and can no more endure on them to looke.<br>All this worlds glory seemeth vayne to me,<br>and all theyr shewes but shadowes sauing she.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edmund+Spenser">Edmund Spenser</a></strong></div>

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