Sonnet 7
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Lo in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty,
And having climb\\u2019d the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,
The eyes (\\u2019fore duteous) now converted are
From his low tract and look another way:
\\xa0 So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon,
\\xa0 Unlook\\u2019d on diest unless thou get a son.
Rogue World, by Kathleen Martin is licensed under a Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
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