grant withington - the age to come (sonnet xvii) lyrics
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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, yellowed with their age
bе scorn’d like old men of less truth than tonguе
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
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