Sonnet CXVII:
Within the circle of my darling’s charms
I stand as grimly as some ruin old,
Which creeping roses tenderly enfold
Within the cincture of their fragrant arms.
All my defacements, my defects and harms
Are so concealed, so cunningly enrolled
And overflowered, that whoso may behold
My glorious robe, asks not what shape it warms.
But ah! If ever stripping storms arise,
And rend these vernal splendors, which I wear
So proudly forward in the world’s wide stare,
How shall I hide me from its blank surprise,
To find my naked nature in the glare
And cold, cruel wonder of its myriad eyes?
