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But I to that far morning where you stood

In fullness of the body, with your hands

Reposing on your walls, before your lands,

And all, together, making one great good:

Then did I cry “For this my birth was meant.

These are my use, and this my sacrament!”

Beauty that Parent is to deathless Rhyme

Was Manhood’s maker: you shall bear a Son,

Till Daughters linked adown admiring time

Fulfil the mother, handing Beauty on.

You shall by breeding make Life answer yet,

In Time’s despite, Time’s jeer that men go void;

Your stamp of heaven shall be more largely set

Than my one joy, ten thousand times enjoyed.

The glories of our state and its achievement,

Which wait their passing, shall not pass away.

I will extend our term beyond bereavement,

And launch our date into a dateless day.

For you shall make recórd, and when that’s sealed

In Beauty made immortal, all is healed.

What are the names for Beauty? Who shall praise

God’s pledge he can fulfil His creatures’ eyes?

Or what strong words of what creative phrase