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05-11-2009, 02:10 AM
Sonnet #17
XVII.br /br /Who will believe my verse in time to come,br /If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?br /Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tombbr /Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.br /If I could write the beauty of your eyesbr /And in fresh numbers number all your graces,br /The age to come would say 'This poet lies:br /Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'br /So should my papers yellow'd with their agebr /Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,br /And your true rights be term'd a poet's ragebr /And stretched metre of an antique song:br /But were some child of yours alive that time,br /You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.
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XVII.br /br /Who will believe my verse in time to come,br /If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?br /Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tombbr /Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.br /If I could write the beauty of your eyesbr /And in fresh numbers number all your graces,br /The age to come would say 'This poet lies:br /Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'br /So should my papers yellow'd with their agebr /Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,br /And your true rights be term'd a poet's ragebr /And stretched metre of an antique song:br /But were some child of yours alive that time,br /You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.
More... (http://www.sonnetaday.com)