The Sonnets

Those lines that I before have writ do lie,

Even those that said I could not love you dearer:

Yet then my judgment knew no reason why

My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.

But reckoning Time, whose millionʼd accidents

Creep in ʼtwixt vows, and change decrees of kings,

Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharpʼst intents,

Divert strong minds to the course of altering things;

Alas! why fearing of Timeʼs tyranny,

Might I not then say, ʼNow I love you best,ʼ

When I was certain oʼer incertainty,

Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?

Love is a babe, then might I not say so,

To give full growth to that which still doth grow?