VII

How soon hath Time the suttle theef of youth,
Stoln on his wing my three and twentith yeer!
My hasting dayes flie on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th,
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arriv'd so near,
And inward ripenes doth much less appear,
That som more timely-happy spirits indu'th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow.
It shall be still in strictest measure eev'n,                        
To that same lot, however mean, or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heav'n;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great task Masters eye.

Added: Feb 21 2003 | Viewed: 752 times | Comments (0)

Poet: John Milton
Poem: Sonnet 07
Volume: The Poetical Works of John Milton
There are no comments for this poem. Why not be the first one to post something about it?

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, Sonnet 07, has not yet been commented on. You can click here to be the first to post a comment about it. Of course you can also always discuss poems by John Milton with others on the Poetry Connection poetry forum!