What's in the brain that ink may character Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit? What's new to speak, what new to register, That may express my love or thy dear merit? Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine, I must, each day say o'er the very same, Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name. So that eternal love in love's fresh case Weighs not the dust and injury of age, Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, But makes antiquity for aye his page, Finding the first conceit of love there bred Where time and outward form would show it dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIRGILS GNAT: DEDICATORY SONNET by EDMUND SPENSER THE ROSES ON THE TERRACE by ALFRED TENNYSON THALIA by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH HAYMAKERS' SONG, FR. KING RENE'S HONEYMOON by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THE BATTLE-FIELD OF RASZYN by KAZIMIERZ BRODZINSKI THE ROCK OF LIBERTY; A PILGRIM ODE, 1629-1920: 1. VISION by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN THE RURAL PIPE by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON A GOLDEN WEDDING: C.B.-E.A.B., 1825-1875 by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |