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| <HTML><HEAD><TITLE>Sonnet CVIII</TITLE></HEAD> | |
| <BODY><H1>Sonnet CVIII</H1> | |
| <BLOCKQUOTE>What's in the brain that ink may character<BR> | |
| Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?<BR> | |
| What's new to speak, what new to register,<BR> | |
| That may express my love or thy dear merit?<BR> | |
| Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,<BR> | |
| I must, each day say o'er the very same,<BR> | |
| Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,<BR> | |
| Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.<BR> | |
| So that eternal love in love's fresh case<BR> | |
| Weighs not the dust and injury of age,<BR> | |
| Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,<BR> | |
| But makes antiquity for aye his page,<BR> | |
| Finding the first conceit of love there bred<BR> | |
| Where time and outward form would show it dead.<BR> | |
| </BLOCKQUOTE> | |
| </BODY></HTML> | |