Sonnet XII

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Sonnet XII

I would say this to you if my tongue would speak
The words I will it to: you are growing
More and more beautiful as time is flowing
Away. All its mere essences now reek
In quiet corners, unaware; it is bleak
In front of you, for you are not showing
Any resistance to its crude bestowing—
That brings dust to wind and the soul to eek.
But what would these ugly winds of age do
To you, whose beauty is secured, in part
Somewhere concealed, in part somewhere so true
That it needs no hiding for itself, for who
Is it that dares questions raise? It is your heart
Of course which all beauty holds (and your eyes too).


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