To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, 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 perceived; So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived: For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred; Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 4. CAPRI by SARA TEASDALE WHAT I LIVE FOR by GEORGE LINNAEUS BANKS HOW'S MY BOY? by SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL A CONSERVATIVE by CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON GILMAN THE CHURCH WINDOWS by GEORGE HERBERT THE DEPARTURE OF THE SWALLOW by WILLIAM HOWITT |