Sonnet XXII: To Cyriack Skinner

Cyriack, this three years' day these eyes, though clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot; Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appearOf sun or moon or star throughout the year, Or man or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heav'n's hand or will, not bate a jot Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steerRight onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied In liberty's 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.