Crow’s Feet and Regrets: Shakespeare’s Sonnet No. 2

Original

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow

And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,

Thy youth’s proud livery, so gazed on now,

Will be a tattered weed, of small worth held.

Then being asked where all thy beauty lies—

Where all the treasure of thy lusty days—

To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes

Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.

How much more praise deserved thy beauty’s use

If thou couldst answer “This fair child of mine

Shall sum my count and make my old excuse”,

Proving his beauty by succession thine.

This were to be new made when thou art old,

And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.

When you are forty and time has carved deep wrinkles in your smooth skin-

Your young beauty, so admired now, will be a withered plant, worth nothing.

At that time, when you’re asked what happened to the time-

Where are the children you were supposed to father-

You will look out crow-footed eyes and see your selfishness.

Well-deserved praise would be yours if you could say,

“The youth of my children will make up for time growing me old,”

Your child’s beauty having been received from you.

This is how you make yourself new when aged,

How to warm your heart when age cools the blood.