Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, <br />When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, <br />Before these bastard signs of fair were born, <br />Or durst inhabit on a living brow: <br />Before the golden tresses of the dead, <br />The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, <br />To live a second life on second head, <br />Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: <br />In him those holy antique hours are seen, <br />Without all ornament, it self and true, <br />Making no summer of another's green, <br />Robbing no old to dress his beauty new, <br />And him as for a map doth Nature store, <br />To show false Art what beauty was of yore.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-68-thus-is-his-cheek-the-map-of-days-outworn/
