Sonnet 104: To me, fair friend, you never can be old
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
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Tuesday, July 12, 2011 - 01:53
Poesia Consagrada :
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Poesia Consagrada/General | It was a Lover and his Lass | 0 | 2.005 | 07/12/2011 - 01:25 | English | |
Poesia Consagrada/General | How Like A Winter Hath My Absence Been | 0 | 2.636 | 07/12/2011 - 01:24 | English | |
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Poesia Consagrada/General | Fear No More | 0 | 1.418 | 07/12/2011 - 01:10 | English | |
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