I never saw that you did painting
need
And therefore to your fair no painting
set;
I found, or thought I found, you did
exceed
The barren tender of a poet's debt;
And therefore have I slept in your
report,
That you yourself being extant well
might show
How far a modern quill doth come too
short,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you
doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute,
Which shall be most my glory, being
dumb;
For I impair not beauty being mute,
When others would give life and bring a
tomb.
There lives more life in one of your
fair eyes
Than both your poets can in praise
devise.
View all
Shakespeare's Sonnets:
