To me, fair friend, you never can be old, <br />For as you were when first your eye I eyed, <br />Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold <br />Have from the forests shook three summers' pride, <br />Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned <br />In process of the seasons have I seen, <br />Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned, <br />Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green. <br />Ah yet doth beauty like a dial hand, <br />Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived. <br />So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, <br />Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived. <br /> For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred: <br /> Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-104-to-me-fair-friend-you-never-can-be-ol/
