Author: Gordon (---.p.pppool.de)
Date: 02-06-06 20:24
The former post was off topic and was removed as it was a violation of our
Great Books spirit.
These forums are being phased out & replaced. Join us at our new
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Please respect that these are Great Books sites. We far prefer
discussions along the following
I never can feel certain of any truth but from a clear perception of its Beauty. -John Keats
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey\'d,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers\' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn\'d,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn\'d,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv\'d;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv\'d:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty\'s summer dead.
I\'m interested in the fact that the less secure a man is, the more likely
he is to have extreme prejudice.
Then let not winter\'s ragged hand deface,
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill\'d:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty\'s treasure ere it be self-kill\'d.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That\'s for thy self to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigur\'d thee:
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-will\'d, for thou art much too fair
To be death\'s conquest and make worms thine heir.