The Sonnets by William Shakespeare

Sonnet 104

read by Niamh McGrady

To me, fair friend, you never can be old;

For as you were when first your eye I eyed,

Such seems your beauty still: three winters cold

Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride;

5Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned

In process of the seasons have I seen;

Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned,

Since first I saw you fresh, which yet art green.

Ah, yet doth beauty, like a dial hand,

10Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;

So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,

Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived;

For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred,

Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead.

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