The Poetry Corner

The Sonnets II - When forty winters shall besiege thy brow

By William Shakespeare

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beautys field, Thy youths proud livery so gazed on now, Will be a tatterd weed of small worth held: Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies, Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes, Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. How much more praise deservd thy beautys use, If thou couldst answer This fair child of mine Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse, Proving his beauty by succession thine! This were to be new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feelst it cold.