Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Unknown - Страница 22

     When in the chronicle of wasted time

     I see descriptions of the fairest wights,

     And beauty making beautiful old rhyme

     In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights;

     Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best

     Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,

     I see their antique pen would have exprest

     Ev'n such a beauty as you master now.

     So all their praises are but prophecies

     Of this our time, all, you prefiguring;

     And for they look'd but with divining eyes,

     They had not skill enough your worth to sing:

     For we, which now behold these present days,

     Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.