Thy glass will show thee how thy
beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint
will bear,
And of this book this learning mayst
thou taste.
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly
show
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory;
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst
know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
Look, what thy memory can not contain
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou
shalt find
Those children nursed, deliver'd from
thy brain,
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
These offices, so oft as thou wilt
look,
Shall profit thee and much enrich thy
book.
View all
Shakespeare's Sonnets:
