When all your summer's joy'd and joyous gone
What beauty kept, that golden days not melt?
Yourself dispose of them when winter's won
And leave to cold, but now to yours have felt,
The furrowed on your skin, the time you waged
Against the jewels left, once from their gained
But they with grace and glow do wear their aged,
It's you with wrinkles tied your spirit waned,
For ravaged is your cover, as within-
Now spurned outdone to self, now aged alone;
Not by your arm holds one of beauty's sin
It's end that must withhold and let atone.

But if those summers be the best again
Then wait no thought, shall they the same as then!