Sonnet CVIWhen in the chronicle of wasted timeI see descriptions of the fairest wights,And beauty making beautiful old rhymeIn praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,I see their antique pen would have express'dEven such a beauty as you master now.So all their praises are but propheciesOf this our time, all you prefiguring;And, for they look'd but with divining eyes,They had not skill enough your worth to sing:For we, which now behold these present days,Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
Sonnet LVNot marble, nor the gilded monumentsOf princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;But you shall shine more bright in these contentsThan unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time.When wasteful war shall statues overturn,And broils root out the work of masonry,Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burnThe living record of your memory.'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmityShall you pace forth; your praise shall still find roomEven in the eyes of all posterityThat wear this world out to the ending doom.So, till the judgment that yourself arise,You live in this, and dwell in lover's eyes.
Sonnet XVIIWho will believe my verse in time to come,If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tombWhich hides your life and shows not half your parts.If I could write the beauty of your eyesAnd in fresh numbers number all your graces,The age to come would say 'This poet lies:Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'So should my papers yellow'd with their ageBe scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,And your true rights be term'd a poet's rageAnd stretched metre of an antique song:But were some child of yours alive that time,You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.
Sonnet XXXIIIFull many a glorious morning have I seenFlatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,Kissing with golden face the meadows green,Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;Anon permit the basest clouds to rideWith ugly rack on his celestial face,And from the forlorn world his visage hide,Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:Even so my sun one early morn did shineWith all triumphant splendor on my brow;But out, alack! he was but one hour mine;The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.
Sonnet LIIIWhat is your substance, whereof are you made,That millions of strange shadows on you tend?Since every one hath, every one, one shade,And you, but one, can every shadow lend.Describe Adonis, and the counterfeitIs poorly imitated after you;On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,And you in Grecian tires are painted new:Speak of the spring and foison of the year;The one doth shadow of your beauty show,The other as your bounty doth appear;And you in every blessed shape we know.In all external grace you have some part,But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
Sonnet XLIX (Sonnet 49)Against that time, if ever that time come,When I shall see thee frown on my defects,When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,Call'd to that audit by advised respects;Against that time when thou shalt strangely passAnd scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye,When love, converted from the thing it was,Shall reasons find of settled gravity,--Against that time do I ensconce me hereWithin the knowledge of mine own desert,And this my hand against myself uprear,To guard the lawful reasons on thy part:To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws,Since why to love I can allege no cause.
Sonnet XXVIIWeary with toil, I haste me to my bed,The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;But then begins a journey in my head,To work my mind, when body's work's expired:For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,Looking on darkness which the blind do seeSave that my soul's imaginary sightPresents thy shadow to my sightless view,Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,For thee and for myself no quiet find.
Sonnet XVIIIShall I compare thee to a summer's day?Thou art more lovely and more temperate:Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,And summer's lease hath all too short a date:Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;And every fair from fair sometime declines,By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;But thy eternal summer shall not fadeNor lose possession of that fair thou owest;Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,When in eternal lines to time thou growest:So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,So long lives this and this gives life to thee.