11,112,006,825,558,016 Sonnets(after Queneau)Lo! in the orient when the gracious lightNow is the time that face should form another; And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest Serving with looks his sacred majesty; For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate Resembling strong youth in his middle age, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? Then of thy beauty do I question make, Calls back the lovely April of her prime: Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,' Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove: This were to be new made when thou art old, Which, used, lives th' executor to be. |