Cyriack, this three years day these eys, though clear
To outward view, of blemish or of spot;
Bereft of light their seeing have forgot,
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of Sun or Moon or Starre throughout the year,
Or man or woman. Yet I argue not
Against the hand or will, nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, Friend, to have lost them overply’d
In libertyes defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe talks from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the world’s vain mask
Content though blind, had I no better guide.
John Milton