On our lack of tongues :)

Here’s today’s first sonnet:

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CVI

  When in the chronicle of wasted time

  I see descriptions of the fairest wights,

  And beauty making beautiful old rime,

  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 express'd

  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.

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I had to look up wight:  It means “a living being; creature; especially a human being.”  The volta is the but in the final line, and the build-up to the volta is amazing  J  Another sonnet in the afternoon—