William Shakespeare

Sonnet xvi

WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rime
In praise of Ladies dead and lovely Knights;

Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have exprest
Even such a beauty as you master now.

So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And for they look’d but with diving eyes,
They had not skill enough to sing:

For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.