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<HTML><HEAD><TITLE>Sonnet CVII</TITLE></HEAD>
<BODY><H1>Sonnet CVII</H1>

<BLOCKQUOTE>Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul<BR>
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,<BR>
Can yet the lease of my true love control,<BR>
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.<BR>
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured<BR>
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;<BR>
Incertainties now crown themselves assured<BR>
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.<BR>
Now with the drops of this most balmy time<BR>
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes,<BR>
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,<BR>
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes:<BR>
  And thou in this shalt find thy monument,<BR>
  When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.<BR>
</BLOCKQUOTE>

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