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brian dennehy - sonnet 107 كلمات أغنية

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not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
of the wide world dreaming on things to come
can yet the lease of my true love control
supposed as forfeit to a confined doom
the mortal moon hath her eclipse endured
and the sad augurs mock their own presage;
incertainties now crown themselves assured
and peace proclaims olives of endless age
now with the drops of this most balmy time
my love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes
since, spite of him, i’ll live in this poor rhyme
while he insults o’er dull and speechless tribes:
and thou in this shalt find thy monument
when tyrants’ crests and tombs of brass are spent

- brian dennehy

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