Sonnets by William Shakespeare: CIV

Sonnet CIII

Sonnet CV

CIV

 To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, 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 perceiv'd; So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd:   For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:   Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. 

Contents

Sonnet CIII

Sonnet CV