Where art thou, oh, precious spectacles?
Ode to my ‘flying glasses’: O most precious spectacles, thou art fled!Mine eyes, now prisoners to mist obscure,Do mourn thy absence like the waning moon,Deprived of night’s celestial glow impure. What cruel fate hath snatched thee from my grasp,And left my world to blur, a smudg’d dream?Doth thou repose upon some velvet couch,Or linger, hidden,…