Shakespeare Sonnet 106

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When in the chronicle of wasted time

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I see descriptions of the fairest wights,

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And beauty making beautiful old rhyme

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In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,

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Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,

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Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,

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I see their antique pen would have express'd

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Even such a beauty as you master now.

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So all their praises are but prophecies

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Of this our time, all you prefiguring;

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And, for they look'd but with divining eyes,

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They had not skill enough your worth to sing:

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For we, which now behold these present days,

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Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.