11,112,006,825,558,016 Sonnets(after Queneau)From fairest creatures we desire increase,Lifts up his burning head, each under eye And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality; For never-resting time leads summer on To hideous winter and confounds him there; They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, Calls back the lovely April of her prime: Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more; Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. This were to be new made when thou art old, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
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