Representative Poetry Online

Random Poem of the Day

Sonnet 104
1To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
2For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
3Such seems your beauty still: three winters cold
4Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
6In process of the seasons have I seen.
7Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd
9Ah yet doth beauty, like a dial hand,
11So your sweet hue, which me thinks still doth stand,
12Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived,
14    Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

Notes

5] beaut'ous] beautious Q. Back to Line
8] which] who (the beloved). Back to Line
10] Steal] leave by stealth. figure] appearance. Back to Line
13] unbred] unborn (OED, ppl. a., 1 [first citation])--that is, future time. Back to Line