|
| SONNET 5 |
| Those hours, that with gentle work did frame |
| The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, |
| Will play the tyrants to the very same |
| And that unfair which fairly doth excel: |
| For never-resting time leads summer on |
| To hideous winter and confounds him there; |
| Sap cheque'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, |
| Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where: |
| Then, were not summer's distillation left, |
| A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, |
| Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, |
| Nor it nor no remembrance what it was: |
| But flowers distill'd though they with winter meet, |
| Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet. |
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