Sonnet # 17 by William Shakespeare Magnet

SONNET XVII Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb Which hides your life and shows not half your parts. If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say 'This poet lies: Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.' So should my papers yellow'd with their age Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue, And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage And stretched metre of an antique song: But were some child of yours alive that time, You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme. Many features may be customized, such as border and background colours. Images may be resized or moved, and many products are available in a number of pre-edited variations. Please browse the category to see all options. Images courtesy of various public domain archives, including FromOldBooks.org and OldBookArt.com. Visit OldBookArt. Any images found there may be saved to your computer, and uploaded here to customize any of these products in any manner you wish. There are thousands of variations of the poems and images. The best way to browse is to go to a specific sonnet or poem by an author on the sidebar menu, then use the drop down menu to narrow by product type. You can then see all the images available on that product type. Click the drop down menu to show more items per page if there are more than 20. to return to the home page of the here at