11,112,006,825,558,016 Sonnets(after Queneau)When I do count the clock that tells the time,And yet methinks I have astronomy, And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase: Where all the treasure of thy lusty days, Making a famine where abundance lies, Which to repair should be thy chief desire. How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use, Which husbandry in honour might uphold Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more; What acceptable audit canst thou leave? But flowers distill'd though they with winter meet, Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.
|
