The grey-white sky does not depress my view:
Most beautiful of things do turn to grey;
How does the sky wear age as age does new;
When colored by the sun or fresh spring day.
Today may not be spring and sky's not young
And beauty from the winds do whisper not,
Yet is from imperfections greater sung
Preserves all beauty checked from weary rot?
I wonder in this sight, do I see you
But is in eyes of yours that look on me:
Surveying all my blemishes as true
And truth is beauty, beauty's love that be:

So I adore this play that drapes the sky
I look on them, as you with me your eye.