Shakespeare Sonnet 7

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Lo! in the orient when the gracious light

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Lifts up his burning head, each under eye

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Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,

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Serving with looks his sacred majesty;

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And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,

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Resembling strong youth in his middle age,

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Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,

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Attending on his golden pilgrimage:

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But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,

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Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,

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The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are

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From his low tract, and look another way:

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So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon

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Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.