Sonnet 7

by


  Lo in the orient when the gracious light
  Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
  Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
  Serving with looks his sacred majesty,
  And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
  Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
  Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
  Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
  But when from highmost pitch with weary car,
  Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,
  The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are
  From his low tract and look another way:
    So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon:
    Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.


5

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 7 to your own personal library.

Return to the William Shakespeare Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; Sonnet 70

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