11,112,006,825,558,016 Sonnets(after Queneau)When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now, But that thou none lovest is most evident; For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb The bounteous largess given thee to give? Sap cheque'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind. How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use, And only herald to the gaudy spring, The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are And kept unused, the user so destroys it. This were to be new made when thou art old, That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
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