Thursday, May 10, 2012

Sonnet Number 2

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a totter'd 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 deserv'd thy beauty's 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 feel'st it cold.

William Shakespeare


Zuzana said...

Dear G, I am back after a long break and I LOVE, LOVE your new look here. And your new profile picture is gorgeous, so ethereal. The feel here is lighter and happier than it used to be, love it.;)
I hope you have been well, looking forward to catch up with you and everyone else and to start blogging on regular bases again.;)

G said...

Thank you so much for your lovely comments, Zuzana, and more importantly, congratulations on your wonderful news!

Anonymous said...

I would echo Zuzana's comments and add a bit of saucepottishness (yes it is a word) to the mix.

Audubon Ron said...

I like the new look too.

G said...

Thank you, both. :)