Sonnet XIV, by
William Shakespeare
Not from the
stars do I my judgement pluck
And yet
methinks I have
astronomy;
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of
dearths, or seasons' quality.
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
'Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well
By oft predict that I in heaven find;
But
from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As
truth and beauty shall together thrive
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert.
Or else of thee this I
prognosticate:
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
<-- index -->