Who will believe my verse in time to come <br />If it were filled with your most high deserts? <br />Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb <br />Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts: <br />If I could write the beauty of your eyes, <br />And in fresh numbers number all your graces, <br />The age to come would say this poet lies, <br />Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces. <br />So should my papers (yellowed with their age) <br />Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue, <br />And your true rights be termed a poet's rage, <br />And stretched metre of an antique song. <br />But were some child of yours alive that time, <br />You should live twice in it, and in my rhyme.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-17-who-will-believe-my-verse-in-time-to-come/
