Poetry Unit - Sonnets (Page 2 of 2) in pdf

Poetry Unit - Sonnets Page 2

Shakespearean Sonnet 126

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power

Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;

Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st

Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;

If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,

As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,

She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill

May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.

Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!

She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:

Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be,

And her quietus is to render thee.

On His Being Arrived to the Age of Twenty-three By John Milton

(Italian Sonnet)

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, (a)

Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year! (b)

My hasting days fly on with full career, (b)

But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th. (a)

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, (a)

That I to manhood am arrived so near, (b)

And inward ripeness doth much less appear, (b)

That some more timely-happy spirits indu'th. (a)

Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow, (c)

It shall be still in strictest measure even (d)

To that same lot, however mean or high, (e)

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven. (d)

All is, if I have grace to use it so, (c)

As ever in my great Task-master's eye. (e)

Poetry Unit - Sonnets Page 2