11,112,006,825,558,016 Sonnets

(after Queneau)

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
Now is the time that face should form another;
But as the riper should by time decease,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Sap cheque'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
So thou through windows of thine age shall see
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

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