Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now
Before these bastard signs of fair were born
Or durst inhabit on a living brow.
Before the golden tresses of the dead
The right of sepulchres were shorn away,
To live a second life on second head
The beauty's dead fleece made another gay.
In him those holy antique hours are seen
Without all ornament, itself and true.
Making no summer of another's green
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new
And him as for a map doth nature store,
To show false Art what the beauty was of yore.