When In The Chronicle Of Wasted Time
When
in
the
chronicle
of
wasted
time
I
see
descriptions
of
the
fairest
wights,
And
beauty
making
beautiful
old
rhyme
In
praise
of
ladies
dead,
and
lovely
knights,
Then,
in
the
blazon
of
sweet
beauty's
best,
Of
hand,
of
foot,
of
lip,
of
eye,
of
brow,
I
see
their
antique
pen
would
have
expressed
Even
such
a
beauty
as
you
master
now.
So
all
their
praises
are
but
prophecies
Of
this
our
time,
all
you
prefiguring;
And,
for
they
looked
but
with
divining
eyes,
They
had
not
skill
enough
your
worth
to
sing.
For
we,
which
now
behold
these
present
days,
Have
eyes
to
wonder,
but
lack
tongues
to
praise.
