206
When I in loneliness O Fair ruminate,
What is life the slave of moving years?
But I come to know this fact very late,
Now thinking on it my eyes full of tears
When after a long time I see in the glass,
Printed years lines on my wrinkled face,
And I feel my pretty youth’s youth loss,
Cruel time affects my beauteous grace.
My pregnant thoughts time can’t decay,
Thoughts belong to soul it never dies,
Nor time nor place nor night nor day,
Kills a good soul to others beautifies.
So I put my sweet soul in my pretty rime,
It can’t be perished by the cunning time.
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