I once may see when yeeres shall wrecke my wronge,
When golden haires shall chaunge to siluer wyer:
And those bright rayes, that kindle all this fyer
Shall faile in force, their working not so stronge.
Then beautie, now the burthen of my song,
Whose glorious blaze the world dooth so admire;
Must yeelde vp all to tyrant Times desire:
Then fade those flowres which deckt her pride so long.
When if she grieue to gaze her in her glas,
Which then presents her winter-withered hew;
Goe you my verse, goe tell her what she was;
For what she was she best shall finde in you.
Your firie heate lets not her glorie passe,
But Phenix-like shall make her liue anew.