Poem – To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old – William Shakespeare

Sonnet 104: 
To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 

For as you were when first your eye I ey’d, 

Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold, 

Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride, 

Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn’d, 

In process of the seasons have I seen, 

Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn’d, 

Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 

Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand, 

Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv’d; 

So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 

Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv’d: 

For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred: 

Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead.

Poem – “Heaven” Has Different Signs&Mdash, To Me – Emily Dickinson 

“Heaven” has different Signs—to me— 

Sometimes, I think that Noon 

Is but a symbol of the Place— 

And when again, at Dawn, 
A mighty look runs round the World 

And settles in the Hills— 

An Awe if it should be like that 

Upon the Ignorance steals— 
The Orchard, when the Sun is on— 

The Triumph of the Birds 

When they together Victory make— 

Some Carnivals of Clouds— 
The Rapture of a finished Day— 

Returning to the West— 

All these—remind us of the place 

That Men call “paradise”— 
Itself be fairer—we suppose— 

But how Ourself, shall be 

Adorned, for a Superior Grace— 

Not yet, our eyes can see—