11,112,006,825,558,016 Sonnets

(after Queneau)

Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Now 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.

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