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William Shakespeare - Sonnet 2: "When forty winters shall besiege thy brow..."
Work rating: Medium

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, 
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty`s field, 
Thy youth`s proud livery, so gazed on now, 
Will be a tatter`d weed, of small worth held: 
Then being ask`d where all thy beauty lies, 
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days, 
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, 
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. 
How much more praise deserved thy beauty`s use, 
If thou couldst answer `This fair child of mine 
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,` 
Proving his beauty by succession thine! 
   This were to be new made when thou art old, 
   And see thy blood warm when thou feel`st it cold.
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