lirik lagu the marlowe society - sonnet 108
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what’s in the brain, that ink may character
which hath not figur’d to thee my true spirit?
what’s new to speak, what new to register
that may express my love, or thy dear merit?
nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine
i must each day say o’er the very same
counting no old thing old, thou mine, i thine
even as when first i hallowed thy fair name
so that eternal love in love’s fresh case
weighs not the dust and injury of age
nor gives to necessary wrinkles place
but makes antiquity for aye his page;
finding the first conceit of love there bred
where time and outward form would show it dead
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