Sonet Liv
O,
how
much
more
doth
beauty
beauteous
seem
By
that
sweet
ornament
which
truth
doth
give!
The
rose
looks
fair,
but
fairer
we
it
deem
For
that
sweet
odour
which
doth
in
it
live.
The
canker-blooms
have
full
as
deep
a
dye
As
the
perfumed
tincture
of
the
roses,
Hang
on
such
thorns
and
play
as
wantonly
When
summer's
breath
their
masked
buds
discloses:
But,
for
their
virtue
only
is
their
show,
They
live
unwoo'd
and
unrespected
fade,
Die
to
themselves.
Sweet
roses
do
not
so;
Of
their
sweet
deaths
are
sweetest
odours
made:
And
so
of
you,
beauteous
and
lovely
youth,
When
that
shall
fade,
my
verse
distills
your
truth.
