106
When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights; Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have expressed
Even such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they looked but with divining eyes, They had not still enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
106
When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights; Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have expressed
Even such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they looked but with divining eyes, They had not still enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
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