1 Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
2 Even those that said I could not love you dearer,
3 Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
4 My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
5 But reckoning Time, whose million'd accidents
6 Creep in 'twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,
7 Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
8 Divert strong minds to th' course of alt'ring things:
9 Alas, why, fearing of Time's tyranny,
10 Might I not then say, "Now I love you best,"
11 When I was certain o'er incertainty,
12 Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
13 Love is a babe; then might I not say so,
14 To give full growth to that which still doth grow?