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CXV.
Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Even
those that said I could not love you dearer:
Yet then
my judgment knew no reason why
My most full flame
should afterwards burn clearer.
But reckoning time,
whose million'd accidents
Creep in 'twixt vows and
change decrees of kings,
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the
sharp'st intents,
Divert strong minds to the course
of altering things;
Alas, why, fearing of time's
tyranny,
Might I not then say 'Now I love you best,'
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the
present, doubting of the rest?
Love is a babe; then
might I not say so,
To give full growth to that which
still doth grow?
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