Day: August 11, 2014

Lo! in the orient when the gracious lightLifts up his burning head, each under eyeDoth homage to his new-appearing sight,Serving with looks his sacred majesty; And having climbed the steep-up

Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface,In thee thy summer, ere thou be distilled:Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some placeWith beauty’s treasure ere it be self-killed.That use is not

Those hours, that with gentle work did frameThe lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,Will play the tyrants to the very sameAnd that unfair which fairly doth excel;For never-resting time

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spendUpon thy self thy beauty’s legacy?Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,And being frank she lends to those are free:Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,Thy youth’s proud livery so gazed on now,Will be a totter’d weed of small worth held: Then

Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest Now is the time that face should form another; Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile

From fairest creatures we desire increase,That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,But as the riper should by time decease,His tender heir might bear his memory:But thou contracted to thine own