It is a commonplace that Shakespeare was richly endowed with visual imagery, and his use of it for poetic and dramatic purppses has been widely studied, e.g. by Edward Armstrong (1946), Wolfgang Clemen (1951) and Caroline Spurgeon (1952). However there are passages in his Sonnets which suggest that, more than merely being richly imagin­ative, especially in the visual modality, he was actually an Eldetiker.

    In the Encyclopedia of Psychology (eds. Eysenck, Arnold, Meili, 1972), eidetic imagery is so defined: “vivid visual images of specific objects that are not present in actuality are 'seen' by the subject (usually a child), who is generally conscious that these are not directly sensed images of the external world." A fuller account is given by Ulric Neisser (1966), from Which the following is quoted:

An image is called 'eidetic' when (1) the subject describes it as having a clarity and definiteness comparable to that of external objects; (2) he 'projects' it, i.e. sees it as occupying a particular place in space; (3) he can 'examine' it as he might examine a real picture; and (4) it does not shift its position with eye movements as an afterimage would.

    Again according to Neisser, Doob (1964) found eidetic imagery very common among rural Nigerian adults, but not among members of the same tribe living in the provincial capital. A recent annotation in Nature (May 19, p. 132) [1] reports experiments conducted along very sophisticated neurophysiological lines which “provided striking evidence for the existence of at least detailed memory of texture and produced results that seemed qualitatively unlike those for normal observers." Nevertheless there remain many uncertainties:‑ how and when the capa­city begins to fade in those children who have it, whether the capacity is qualitatively different from abilities used in normal visual recall, whether it can be obtained by training.

    The key Sonnet that suggests that Shakespeare was able to evoke visual imagery of extreme distinctness is S. 27:

   Weary with toyle, I hast me to my bed,
   The deare repose for lims with travaill tired,
   But then begins a journy in my head
   To worke my mind, when boddies work's expired.
   For then my thoughts (from far where I abide)
   Intend a zelous pilgrimage to thee,
   And keepe my drooping eye‑lids open wide,
   Looking on darknes which the blind doe see.
   Save that my soules imaginary sight
   Presents thy shaddoe to my sightles view,           (Q. thy their)
   Which like a jewell (hunge in gastly night)
   Makes blacke night beautious and her old face new.
      Loe thus by day my lims, by night my mind,
      For thee, and for my seife, noe quiet finde.

It is clear that though night is made beautious, the whole experience is disquieting and has a compulsive element. It is perhaps much the same experience, though now described as occurring in dreams and without psychological distress, which comes up in S. 43:

   When most I winke then doe mine eyes best see, 
   For all the day they view things unrespeeted,
   But when I sleepe, in drearnes they looke on thee,
   And darkely bright, are bright in darke directed.

And again in S. 61:

   Is it thy wil, thy Image should keepe open
   My heavy eielids to the weary night?
   Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
   While shadowes like to thee do mocke my sight?

The image of the lovely boy is taken into the mind's eye of the poet as early in the sequence of sonnets as S.15, and in S.24: