Sonnet Cvii

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assured
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes,
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes:
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.

by William Shakespeare

Comments (3)

The first quatrain, taken in the context of what follows, seems to suggest that the prognostications of doom that the poet's fears and the spirit of the world had prompted were entirely wrong. They have wrongly suggested that the poet's love is circumscribed by time and death, whereas he now knows it to be everlasting. This is confirmed in the second quatrain by the descriptions of failure and error of the augurs in giving misleading and false predictions, for the dooms and catastrophes that they foretold have turned out instead to be times of peace and tranquility, and a quickening of love. Death has been conquered, despite the prognostications of soothsayers, and the rapacity of Time, and the beloved youth, through the force of this verse, will outlive the monuments of all kings and princes, however opulent they may be.
...........incredibly beautiful ★ And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of this most balmy time My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes,
Awesome I like this poem, check mine out