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 /> <br />Three beauteous springs to yellow autmun turn'd <br />In process of the seasons have I seen, <br />Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, <br />Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. <br /> <br />Ah! yes 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 /> <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/to-me-fair-friend-you-never-can-be-old/
