Vozes d’outros (6)
SONNET N.º 100
“Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget´st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend´st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love´s sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there,
If any, be a satire to decay
And make Time´s spoils despisèd everywhere.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
So thou prevent´st his scythe and cookèd knife.”
De William Shakespeare