New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.
One every five minutes.
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Till I return, of posting is no need.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan;
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
O'ercharg'd with burthen of mine own love's might.
But rising at thy name doth point out thee,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
And for they looked but with divining eyes,
Or made them swear against the thing they see;
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Since why to love I can allege no cause.
