Sonnet 7 - Lo, in the Orient when the Gracious Light

VII

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'd 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 high-most pitch, with weary car,

Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,

The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are

From his low tract, and look another way:

So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon,

Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.

William Shakespeare

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