11,112,006,825,558,016 Sonnets

(after Queneau)

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
For never-resting time leads summer on
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yourself again after yourself's decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.

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