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And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; `
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When I behold the violet past prime, `
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And sable curls, all silvered o'er with white; `
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When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, `
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Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, `
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And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, `
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Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard, `
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Then of thy beauty do I question make, `
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That thou among the wastes of time must go, `
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Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake `
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And die as fast as they see others grow; `
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And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence `
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Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. `
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XIII `
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O! that you were your self; but, love you are `
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No longer yours, than you your self here live: `
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Against this coming end you should prepare, `
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And your sweet semblance to some other give: `
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So should that beauty which you hold in lease `
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Find no determination; then you were `
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Yourself again, after yourself's decease, `
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When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. `
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Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, `
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Which husbandry in honour might uphold, `
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Against the stormy gusts of winter's day `
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And barren rage of death's eternal cold? `
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O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know, `
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You had a father: let your son say so. `
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XIV `
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Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck; `
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And yet methinks I have astronomy, `
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But not to tell of good or evil luck, `
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Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality; `
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Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, `
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Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, `
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Or say with princes if it shall go well `
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By oft predict that I in heaven find: `
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But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, `
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And constant stars in them I read such art `
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As 'Truth and beauty shall together thrive, `
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If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert'; `
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Or else of thee this I prognosticate: `
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'Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.' `
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XV `
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When I consider every thing that grows `
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Holds in perfection but a little moment, `
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That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows `
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Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; `
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When I perceive that men as plants increase, `
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Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky, `
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Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, `
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And wear their brave state out of memory; `
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Then the conceit of this inconstant stay `
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Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, `
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Where wasteful Time debateth with decay `
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To change your day of youth to sullied night, `
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And all in war with Time for love of you, `
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As he takes from you, I engraft you new. `
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XVI `
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But wherefore do not you a mightier way `
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Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? `
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And fortify your self in your decay `
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With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? `
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Now stand you on the top of happy hours, `
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And many maiden gardens, yet unset, `
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With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, `
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Much liker than your painted counterfeit: `
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So should the lines of life that life repair, `
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Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, `
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Neither in inward worth nor outward fair, `
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Can make you live your self in eyes of men. `
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To give away yourself, keeps yourself still, `
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And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. `
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XVII `
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Who will believe my verse in time to come, `
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If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? `
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Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb `
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Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts. `
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If I could write the beauty of your eyes, `
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And in fresh numbers number all your graces, `
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The age to come would say 'This poet lies; `
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Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.' `
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So should my papers, yellow'd with their age, `
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Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue, `
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And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage `
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And stretched metre of an antique song: `
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But were some child of yours alive that time, `
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You should live twice,--in it, and in my rhyme. `
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XVIII `
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? `
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Thou art more lovely and more temperate: `
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Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, `
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And summer's lease hath all too short a date: `
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Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, `
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And often is his gold complexion dimm'd, `
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And every fair from fair sometime declines, `
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By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd: `
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But thy eternal summer shall not fade, `
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Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st, `
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Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade, `
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When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st, `
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So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, `
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So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. `
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XIX `
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Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, `
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And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; `
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Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, `
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And burn the long-liv'd phoenix, in her blood; `
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Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets, `
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And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, `
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To the wide world and all her fading sweets; `
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But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: `
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O! carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, `
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Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; `
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Him in thy course untainted do allow `
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For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. `
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Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong, `
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My love shall in my verse ever live young. `
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XX `
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A woman's face with nature's own hand painted, `
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Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion; `
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A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted `
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With shifting change, as is false women's fashion: `
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An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, `
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Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; `
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A man in hue all 'hues' in his controlling, `
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Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth. `
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And for a woman wert thou first created; `
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Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, `
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And by addition me of thee defeated, `
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By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. `
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But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure, `
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Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure. `
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XXI `
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So is it not with me as with that Muse, `
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Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse, `
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Who heaven itself for ornament doth use `
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And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, `
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Making a couplement of proud compare' `
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With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems, `
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With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare, `
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That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems. `
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O! let me, true in love, but truly write, `
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And then believe me, my love is as fair `
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As any mother's child, though not so bright `
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As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air: `
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Let them say more that like of hearsay well; `
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I will not praise that purpose not to sell. `
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XXII `
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My glass shall not persuade me I am old, `
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So long as youth and thou are of one date; `
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But when in thee time's furrows I behold, `
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Then look I death my days should expiate. `
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For all that beauty that doth cover thee, `
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Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, `
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Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: `
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How can I then be elder than thou art? `
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O! therefore love, be of thyself so wary `
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As I, not for myself, but for thee will; `
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Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary `
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As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. `
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Presume not on th;heart when mine is slain, `
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Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again. `
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XXIII `
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As an unperfect actor on the stage, `
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Who with his fear is put beside his part, `
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Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, `
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Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; `
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So I, for fear of trust, forget to say `
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The perfect ceremony of love's rite, `
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And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, `
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O'ercharg'd with burthen of mine own love's might. `
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O! let my looks be then the eloquence `
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And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, `
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Who plead for love, and look for recompense, `
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More than that tongue that more hath more express'd. `
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O! learn to read what silent love hath writ: `
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To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. `
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