Sonnet 2
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter’d weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask’d where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use,
If thou couldst answer ‘This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,’
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.
Note
The poet warns the youth that age will lay waste to his beauty, and the only
defense against time’s siege is to leave behind living proof — a child. The
sonnet continues the theme of beauty as treasure that must not be hoarded but
invested, lest age render it worthless.
Resonance Prompt
Where in your life do you sense “time’s siege,” and how might you respond not
with clinging but with an act of renewal — passing something on, shaping a gift
that outlives the moment?
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