Sonnet 126


  O thou my lovely boy who in thy power,
  Dost hold Time's fickle glass his fickle hour:
  Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st,
  Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st.
  If Nature (sovereign mistress over wrack)
  As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back,
  She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
  May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill.
  Yet fear her O thou minion of her pleasure,
  She may detain, but not still keep her treasure!
    Her audit (though delayed) answered must be,
    And her quietus is to render thee.


facebook share button twitter share button google plus share button tumblr share button reddit share button email share button share on pinterest pinterest

Create a library and add your favorite stories. Get started by clicking the "Add" button.
Add Sonnet 126 to your own personal library.

Return to the William Shakespeare Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; Sonnet 127

Anton Chekhov
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Susan Glaspell
Mark Twain
Edgar Allan Poe
Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
Herman Melville
Stephen Leacock
Kate Chopin
Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson