Shakespeare’s speaker is separated from his beloved, and his physical eyesight feels almost useless. He says his eye is now in his mind—meaning he no longer sees the world clearly. Every object his eye catches, whether a dove or a crow, a mountain or the sea, immediately turns into the face of the one he loves. His mind, so full of that single image, overrides all actual sight. The mood is quietly obsessive, a blend of devotion and gentle resignation. He admits his vision is “partly blind” and ineffectual, but there’s no bitterness—just a tender acknowledgment that his loyalty has made his eyes unfaithful to reality. The closing couplet lays it bare: his true mind, replete with the beloved, makes his eye untrue. Love has turned his perception into a beautiful delusion, painting the world in one person’s features.
Sonnet 113: Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind — Summary
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind; And that which governs me to go about Doth part his function and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out; For it no form delivers to the heart Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch: Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch; For if it see the rud'st or gentlest sight, The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature, The mountain or the sea, the day or night: The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature. Incapable of more, replete with you, My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue.