home | authors | books | about

Home -> William Shakespeare -> 127

127

Sonnets

1

10

100

101

102

103

104

105

106

107

108

109

11

110

111

112

113

114

115

116

117

118

119

12

120

121

122

123

124

125

126

127

128

129

13

130

131

132

133

134

135

136

137

138

139

14

140

141

142

143

144

144

145

146

147

148

149

15

150

151

152

153

154

16

17

18

19

2

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

3

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

4

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

5

50

51

52

53

54

55

56

57

58

59

6

60

61

62

63

64

65

66

67

68

69

7

70

71

72

73

74

75

76

77

78

79

8

80

81

82

83

84

85

86

87

88

89

9

90

91

92

93

94

95

96

97

98

99







CXXVII

In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame:
For since each hand hath put on Nature's power,
Fairing the foul with Art's false borrowed face,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black,
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
Sland'ring creation with a false esteem:
Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says beauty should look so.





© Art Branch Inc. | English Dictionary