Classic Poem

When Winter snowes upon thy golden haires,
And frost of age hath nipt thy flowers neere,
When dark shal seeme thy day that never cleeres,
And all lies withred that was held so deere;
Then take this picture which I heere present thee,
Limned with a Pensill not all unworthy:
Heere see the gifts that God and nature lent thee;
Heare reade thy selfe, and what I suffred for thee
This may remaine thy lasting monument,
Which happily posteritie may cherrish:
These colours with thy fading are not spent;
These may remaine, when thou and I shall perrish.
If they remaine, then thou shalt live thereby
They will remaine, and so thou canst not die.