If people ask about your beauty at that Time
When forty winters shall besiege thy face
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow.
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field.
Thy youth’s proud livery, so envied by men
Thy youth’s proud livery, so gazed on now.
Will be a tattered weed, who shall not look.
Will be a tattered weed of small worth held.
Then being asked, where all thy beauty is
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies.
Where is the treasure of thy youthful youth?
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days.
You say, “In these deep sunken eyes of mine
To say, with thine own deep-sunken eyes.
Were an all-eating shame, and unprofitable praise.”
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy use of beauty.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty’s use.
If thou couldst say, “I, the little child of Ning Sing
If thou couldst answer, ‘This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old age forgiven,’
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse.
Proving his beauty by succession thou hast!
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This was to be new made when thine old age was over.
This were to be new made when thou art old.
This were to be new made when thou art old, and to make thy blood feel warm again.
And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.
Call back in thee the fragrant April of her prime
Look in thy glass, and tell thee the face that is in the mirror.
Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
Say now is the time that face should form another
Now is the time that face should form another.
If thou dost not quickly repair the temple for it
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest.
Thou dost beguile the world, and strip the mother of her happiness.
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unblessed
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Her virgin womb would not be plowed by thee?
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
For where is a man so foolish that he would willingly
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
To be the tomb of his own blood?
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
You are your mother’s mirror, in you
Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
Likewise, from the windows of thine twilight thou shalt see–
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see.
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden age.
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live remembered not
But if thou live remembered not to be.
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
Thou art the brightness of spring and the bounty of autumn
What is your substance, whereof thou art made.
What is your substance, whereof are you made.
That millions of strange shadows on you?
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Each one has only one, each one, one shadow.
Since every one hath every one one shade.
Since every one hath every one one shade, you, but one, can become millions of shadows.
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Try to sketch Adonis, his portrait
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you.
Is poorly imitated after you.
Try to apply cosmetology to Helen’s cheek
On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set
Is poorly imitated after you; On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set
And you in Grecian tires are painted new.
And you in Grecian tires are painted new; and at the mention of the brightness of spring and the bounty of autumn
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year.
The one doth shadow of your beauty show.
The one doth shadow of your beauty show.
The other as your bounty doth show.
The other as your bounty doth appear.
The other as your bounty doth appear, and all the handsomeness of your nature is contained in you.
And you in every blessed shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part.
In all external grace you have some part.
But you like none, none you have some part.
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
You are not there, even the birds have stopped singing
How like a winter hath my absence
How like a winter hath my absence been
You, the only joy in the passing years!
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
How gloomy the sky is! I have suffered the cold again!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen.
What old December’s bareness!
What old December’s bareness everywhere!
What old December’s bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed was summer’s time.
And swelling with the tired harvest of autumn.
The teeming autumn big with rich increase
laden with the fruit of youthful debauchery.
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime.
Like widowed wombs after the prime.
Like widowed wombs after their lords’ decease.
Yet this abundant issue seemed to me.
Yet this abundant issue seemed to me
Only fatherless orphans and perverse fruit.
But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit.
For summer and its pleasures wait on you.
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee.
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, and thou absent, even the little birds have ceased to sing.
And thou away, the very birds are mute.
Or if they sing, ’tis so deep.
Or if they sing,’tis with so dull a cheer
The leaves are all gray, fearing that winter will come.
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.
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