98 Poem by Mary Wroth

When I beheld the Image of my deare,
With greedy lookes mine eyes would that way bend,
Feare, and Desire, did inwardly contend;
Feare to be mark'd, Desire to drawe still neere.
And in my soule a Spirit would appeare,
Which boldnes waranted, and did pretend
To be my Genius, yet I durst not lend,
My eyes in trust, where others seem'd so cleare.
Then did I search, from whence this danger rose,
If such unworthynesse in me did rest,
As my sterv'd eyes must not with sight be blest,
When Jealousie her poyson did disclose.
Yet in my heart unseene of Jealous eye,
The truer Image shall in tryumph lye.