Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shall see
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet Xxx: When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought
- Sonnet Lxvi
- Sonnet 38:
- Sonnets Lx: Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbl'D Shor
- Now The Hungry Lion Roars