William Shakespeare "Sonnet 104" testo

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Sonnet 104

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,

Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd,In process of the seasons have I seen,Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.

Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd;So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd:

For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead

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