I FIX mine eye on thine, and there Pity my picture burning in thine eye ; My picture drown'd in a transparent tear, When I look lower I espy ; Hadst thou the wicked skill By pictures made and marr'd, to kill, How many ways mightst thou perform thy will? But now I've drunk thy sweet salt tears, And though thou pour more, I'll depart ; My picture vanished, vanish all fears That I can be endamaged by that art ; Though thou retain of me One picture more, yet that will be, Being in thine own heart, from all malice free. ----John Donne