Sonnet 14


  Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck,
  And yet methinks I have astronomy,
  But not to tell of good, or evil luck,
  Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality,
  Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell;
  Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
  Or say with princes if it shall go well
  By oft predict that I in heaven find.
  But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
  And constant stars in them I read such art
  As truth and beauty shall together thrive
  If from thy self, to store thou wouldst convert:
    Or else of thee this I prognosticate,
    Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.


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