On One, Who Said, He Drank To Clear His Eyes
Charles Cotton (1630-1686), English writer/poet

As Phoebus, crawling to his Western seat,
His shining face bedew’d with beamy sweat,
His flaming eyes at last grown blood-shot red,
By atoms sprung from his hot horses’ speed,
Drives to that sea-green bosom of his Love’s,
And in her lap his fainting light improves;

So Thyrsis, when at th’ unresisted flame
Of thy fair Mistress’s eye, thine dull became,
In sovereign sack thou did’st an eye-salve seek,
And stol’st a blest dew from her rosy cheek;
When straight thy lids a cheerful vigor wore,
More quick and penetrating than before.

I saw the sprightly grape in glory rise,
And with her day thy drooping night surprise,
So that, where now a giddy darkness dwells,
Brightness now breaks through liquid spectacles.

Had Adam known this cure in Paradise,
He’d scap’d the Tree, and drunk to clear his eyes.

courtesy of  vintagewinepoems.com