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LXV
Since
brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But
sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this
rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no
stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey
breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of
battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so
stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time's best
jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand
can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of
beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have
might,
That in black ink my love may still shine
bright.
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