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As the resident artist at EcoHealth, I pen verse inspired by the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at Amerika-Institut of LMU München, where I edit a weekly circular on poetry, I'm anatomizing the prosody of E. A. Robinson's sonnets—I also teach English, tutor composition, and lead a literary circle.

20140409

CXXXVII


by William Shakespeare


Thou blinde foole loue,what dooſt thou to mine eyes,
That they behold and ſee not what they ſee :
They know what beautie is,ſee where it lyes,
Yet what the beſt is ,take the worſt to be.
If eyes corrupt by ouer-partiall lookes,
Be anchord in the baye where all men ride,
Why of eyes falſehood haſt thou forged hookes,
Whereto the iudgement of my heart is tide ?
Why should my heart thinke that a ſeuerall plot,
Which my heart knowes the wide worlds common place?
Or mine eyes ſeeing this,ſay this is not
To put faire truth vpon ſo foule a face,
   In things right true my heart and eyes haue erred,
   And to this falſe plague are they now tranſferred.


Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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