Document:  All > Shakespeare > Poetry > Sonnets > Sonnet XVII

Jump to: the first appearance of if_i_could_write_the_beauty_of_your_eyes


XVII.

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies:
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
  But were some child of yours alive that time,
  You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.


Search for this word      in all documents   just this document

Need writing help? Try RhymeZone's rhyming dictionary and thesaurus features

Help  Forum  Feedback  Android  iPhone/iPad  API  Blog  Privacy

Copyright © 2016 Datamuse