O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass his fickle hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st.
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May Time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!
She may detain, but not still keep her treasure.
    Her audit, though delayed, answered must be,
    And her quietus is to render thee.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 730 times | Comments (0)

Poet: William Shakespeare
Poem: 126. Sonnet 126: O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Volume: The Sonnets
Year: Published/Written in 1609
Poem of the Day on:
Nov 4 2007
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