Stress Free Poetry

My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time’s furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate. For all that beauty that doth cover thee Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: How can I then be elder than thou art? O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary As I, not for myself, but for thee will; Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.     Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;     Thou gav’st me thine, not to give back again.  By ( William Shakespeare )

Look in the glass and tell the face thou view-est Now in the time that face should form another; Whose fresh repair if now thou re-newest  Thou dost beguile the world, unblessed some mother, For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? Or who is so fond will be the tomb Of his self-love, to stop posterity, Thou art the mother's glass, and she is in thee Call back the lovely April of her prime: So thou through windows of thine age shall see Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time, But if thou live, remember'd not to be, Die single and thine images die with thee. BY (WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE)