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| SONNET 52 |
| So am I as the rich, whose blessed key |
| Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, |
| The which he will not every hour survey, |
| For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. |
| Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, |
| Since, seldom coming, in the long year set, |
| Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, |
| Or captain jewels in the carcanet. |
| So is the time that keeps you as my chest, |
| Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, |
| To make some special instant special blest, |
| By new unfolding his imprison'd pride. |
| Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope, |
| Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope. |
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