WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time <br />I see descriptions of the fairest wights, <br />And beauty making beautiful old rime <br />In praise of Ladies dead and lovely Knights; <br />Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, <br />Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, <br />I see their antique pen would have exprest <br />Even such a beauty as you master now. <br />So all their praises are but prophecies <br />Of this our time, all you prefiguring; <br />And for they look'd but with divining eyes, <br />They had not skill enough your worth to sing: <br /> For we, which now behold these present days, <br /> Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnets-xvi/
