Percy Bysshe Shelley’s speaker begs his beloved not to look away. He believes the love in his eyes is only a borrowed glow—a reflection of her own beauty thrown back from his soul. Her voice feels like an echo of his own heart, which makes him cling to the hope that she still loves him. But he sees her as utterly self-absorbed, like someone staring into a mirror, caring for nothing but her own image. He exhausts himself simply watching her, a labour that is somehow sweet. The only real tenderness she offers is pity when he’s sick. The mood is heavy with yearning and quiet despair; he’s trapped in a one-sided emotional mirror, longing for a genuine response that never arrives. The poem’s broken-off ending, an ellipsis, suggests his thoughts—and his hope—fade into silence.
To -- — Summary
Yet look on me--take not thine eyes away, Which feed upon the love within mine own, Which is indeed but the reflected ray Of thine own beauty from my spirit thrown. Yet speak to me--thy voice is as the tone Of my heart's echo, and I think I hear That thou yet lovest me; yet thou alone Like one before a mirror, without care Of aught but thine own features, imaged there;
And yet I wear out life in watching thee; A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeed Art kind when I am sick, and pity me...