Mark Chapman - Sonnet - My love, thou art not old - ноты, текст песни (слова)

My love, thou art not old: oh, say not so!  Time's sickle hath but touch'd thee glancingly; Thy course be only part arun, yet no  Accompt may make those years' advancing lie. What more advantage may proud youth propose  To swell her score, with flaunting beauty's grace  Already surfeited? Ought she oppose Bright hairs, lithe limbs, a faultless carapace, A mind as blank as snow, a virgin slate Unused to weighty thought, a being so Unformed, to thee? Why, no, tis no debate, When but one word from thee were proof enow To claim thy lady's adoration: Youth's brashness, in compare, a toy: mere fashion.