Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Sonnet 7Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, Serving with looks his sacred majesty; And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill, Resembling strong youth in his middle age, Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, Attending on his golden pilgrimage: But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are From his low tract, and look another way: So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son. |
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When the sun rises in the morning, everyone is glad to see it, and worships it. They’re happy to look at it with admiration in the midday, too: it’s then at its physically strongest.
But when the day starts to draw to a close and the sun starts sinking, staggering out of the day as tired as an old man, then people don’t bother to look at him any longer.
That’s how it’ll be with you, once you pass the prime of your youth. You’ll die unregarded unless you get yourself a son. [Oh, and you didn’t miss the pun on son/sun, did you? ;) ]