Sonnet 69

Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view

Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend:

All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,

Utt’ring bare truth, even so as foes commend.

Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown’d,

But those same tongues that give thee so thine own

In other accents do this praise confound

By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.

They look into the beauty of thy mind,

And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds.

Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind,

To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds.

But why thy odour matcheth not thy show?

The soil is this, that thou dost common grow.

What the world sees of you

Has everything the eyes could wish for.

Of that, everybody speaks what’s true.

Friends, foes, they know the score.

All admit the beauty of you.

But they have something else to say

When it’s time to see more,

Beyond the eye.

They try to grasp your beautiful mind,

Watching everything that you do,

But don’t recognize anything they find,

And create a bad aura around you.

Why is there such a discrepancy?

You never conformed to society.