Sonnet 107

　　Not mine own fears，nor the prophetic soul

　　Of the wide world dreaming on things to come，

　　Can yet the lease of my true love control，

　　Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.

　　The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured，

　　And the sad augurs mock their own presage；

　　Incertainties now crown themselves assured，

　　And peace proclaims olives of endless age.

　　Now with the drops of this most balmy time

　　My love looks flesh，and Death to me su