Sonnet 68: Thus Is His Cheek The Map Of Days Outworn
William Shakespeare
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, Before these bastard signs of fair were born, Or durst inhabit on a living brow; Before the golden tresses of the dead, The right of sepulchres, were shorn away To live a second life on second head; Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay. In him those holy antique hours are seen, Without all ornament, itself and true, Making no summer of another's green, Robbing no old to dress his beauty new; And him as for a map doth Nature store, To show false Art what beauty was of yore.
Next 10 Poems
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 69: Those Parts Of Thee That The World's Eye Doth View
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 7: Lo, In The Orient When The Gracious Light
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 70: That Thou Art Blamed Shall Not Be Thy Defect
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 71: No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 72: O, Lest The World Should Task You To Recite
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 73: That Time Of Year Thou Mayst In Me Behold
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 74: But Be Contented When That Fell Arrest
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 75: So Are You To My Thoughts As Food To Life
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 76: Why Is My Verse So Barren Of New Pride?
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 77: Thy Glass Will Show Thee How Thy Beauties Wear
Previous 10 Poems
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 67: Ah, Wherefore With Infection Should He Live
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 66: Tired With All These, For Restful Death I Cry
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 65: Since Brass, Nor Stone, Nor Earth, Nor Boundless Sea
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 64: When I Have Seen By Time's Fell Hand Defaced
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 63: Against My Love Shall Be, As I Am Now
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 62: Sin Of Self-love Possesseth All Mine Eye
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 61: Is It Thy Will Thy Image Should Keep Open
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 60: Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbled Shore
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 6: Then Let Not Winter's Ragged Hand Deface
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet 59: If There Be Nothing New, But That Which Is