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LXVIII.
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When
beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before the
bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on
a living brow;
Before the golden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
To live a
second life on second head;
Ere beauty's dead fleece
made another gay:
In him those holy antique hours are
seen,
Without all ornament, itself and true,
Making no summer of another's green,
Robbing no old
to dress his beauty new;
And him as for a map doth
Nature store,
To show false Art what beauty was of
yore.
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