To His Love（1/1）

Willia Shakespeare

Whenthe icle of wasted ti

I see descriptions of the fairest wights,

Ay akg beautiful old rhy

In praise of dies dead, and lovely knights;

Thenthe bzon of sweet beautys best

Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,

I see their antique pen would have exprest

Evn such a beauty as you aster now.

So all their praises are but prophecies

Of this our ti, all yurg;

And, for they lookd but with divg eyes,

They had not kill enough your worth to sg:

Forbehold these present days,

Have eyes to wonder, but ck too praise.