Sonnet 106

When in the chronicle of wasted timeI see descriptions of the fairest wights,And beauty making beautiful old rhymeIn praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,I see their antique pen would have express'dEven such a beauty as you master now.So all their praises are but propheciesOf this our time, all you prefiguring;And, for they look'd but with divining eyes,They had not skill enough your worth to sing: For we, which now behold these present days, Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
I'm not the first poet whose lustyemissions describe you, love. Fustyold poets send praisefrom back in their days;predicting a beauty that must be.