Sonnet 104

　　To me，fair friend，you never can be old，

　　For as you were when first your eye I eyed，

　　Such seems your beauty still.Three winters cold

　　Have from the forests shook three summers'pride；

　　Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned

　　In process of the seasons have I seen，

　　Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned，

　　Since first I saw you flesh，which yet are green.

　　Ah yet doth beauty，like a dial hand，

　　Steal from his figure and no pace