Full many a glorious morning have
Flatter the mountain-tops with sov
Kissing with golden face the meado
Gilding pale streams with heavenly
Anon permit the basest clouds to r

Is it thy will thy image should ke
My heavy eyelids to the weary nigh
Dost thou desire my slumbers shoul
While shadows like to thee do mock
Is it thy spirit that thou send’st

Who will believe my verse in time
If it were fill’d with your most h
Though yet, heaven knows, it is bu
Which hides your life and shows no
If I could write the beauty of yo

Weary with toil, I haste me to my
The dear repose for limbs with tra
But then begins a journey in my he
To work my mind, when body’s work’
For then my thoughts, from far whe

A woman’s face with Nature’s own
Hast thou, the master-mistress of
A woman’s gentle heart, but not ac
With shifting change, as is false
An eye more bright than theirs, le

From fairest creatures we desire i
That thereby beauty’s rose might n
But as the riper should by time de
His tender heir might bear his mem
But thou, contracted to thine own

Look in thy glass, and tell the fa
Now is the time that face should f
Whose fresh repair if now thou not
Thou dost beguile the world, unble
For where is she so fair whose une

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost tho
Upon thyself thy beauty’s legacy?
Nature’s bequest gives nothing but
And being frank she lends to those
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost

Like as the waves make towards the
So do our minutes hasten to their
Each changing place with that whic
In sequent toil all forwards do co
Nativity, once in the main of ligh

Lo! in the orient when the graciou
Lifts up his burning head, each un
Doth homage to his new—appearing s
Serving with looks his sacred maje
And having climb’d the steep—up he

When I do count the clock that te
And see the brave day sunk in hide
When I behold the violet past pri
And sable curls all silver’d o’er
When lofty trees I see barren of

Some glory in their birth, some in
Some in their wealth, some in thei
Some in their garments, though new
Some in their hawks and hounds, so
And every humour hath his adjunct

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth,
But sad mortality o’er—sways their
How with this rage shall beauty ho
Whose action is no stronger than a
O, how shall summer’s honey breath

I never saw that you did painting
And therefore to your fair no pain
I found, or thought I found, you
The barren tender of a poet’s debt
And therefore have I slept in you

Being your slave, what should I d
Upon the hours and times of your d
I have no precious time* at all to
Nor services to do, till you requi
Nor dare I chide the world—withou

O, how much more doth beauty beaut
By that sweet ornament which truth
The rose looks fair, but fairer we
For that sweet odour, which doth i
The canker blooms have full as dee

Not marble, nor the gilded monumen
Of princes, shall outlive this pow
But you shall shine more bright in
Than unswept stone besmear’d with
When wasteful war shall statues ov

What is your substance, whereof ar
That millions of strange shadows o
Since every one hath, every one, o
And you, but one, can every shadow
Describe Adonis, and the counterf

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fas
In one of thine, from that which t
And that fresh blood which youngly
Thou mayst call thine when thou fr
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and i

Not from the stars do I my judgem
And yet methinks I have astronomy
But not to tell of good or evil lu
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons
Nor can I fortune to brief minute

When I consider every thing that
Holds in perfection but a little m
That this huge stage presenteth no
Whereon the stars in secret influe
When I perceive that men as plant

But wherefore do not you a mightie
Make war upon this bloody tyrant,
And fortify your self in your deca
With means more blessèd than my ba
Now stand you on the top of happy

Devouring Time blunt thou the lio
And make the earth devour her own
Pluck the keen teeth from the fier
And burn the long-lived phoenix, i
Make glad and sorry seasons as tho

So is it not with me as with that
Stirred by a painted beauty to his
Who heaven it self for ornament do
And every fair with his fair doth
Making a couplement of proud compa

My glass shall not persuade me I
So long as youth and thou are of o
But when in thee Time’s furrows I
Then look I death my days should
For all that beauty that doth cove

Mine eye hath played the painter a
Thy beauty’s form in table of my h
My body is the frame wherein 'tis
And perspective it is best painter
For through the painter must you s

Let those who are in favour with t
Of public honour and proud titles
Whilst I, whom fortune of such tr
Unlooked for joy in that I honour
Great princes’ favourites their fa