And turn'd my eyes blind that I could not see.
O wicked blind eyes, will you not be clear?
Have I not told you 'tis written by him?
'Tis a piece of Heaven I am holding here,
And my horrible earthly eyes are dim!
The cruel letters run out and run in,
Fluttering, tottering, stammering by,
Mixing together like threads that you spin,
Flying apart, as birds recklessly fly.
Is it for years that I helplessly stand,