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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> | |
| </BODY></HTML> | |