is face with Nature'
master-mistress of my
mat, but not acquainted
With shifting
i m m hue all hues in And for aw.....
.        ' ::
by
adding nothing
prick'd thee out for pleasure
::. . • md till
27
:
a pilgrimage to thee
ch the blind do see; ■
Makes black night beauteous and her
limbs by night my mind
quiet imd.
6i
slumbers broken
thee do mock my si St from thee d
■
The scope
i
■ '. y the watchman ever for thy sake.
wake elsewhere
far off, with others
63
I am
With Times injurious hand crushed and o er worn; When hours have drained his Wood and filled his brow
4
Hath travelled on to age's steepy night, ^ whereof now lie's 1
vanishing or vanished
8
For such a time do I now fortify
: confounding age's That he shall never cut from m
12
in these black lines
68
map
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, Before the bastard signs of fair were'born, Or durst inhabit on <
the shorn away
To live a second life on second tuv
In him those holy antique hours are Without all ornament, itself and true, Making no summer of another's grc Rnhbino- no old to dress his map
what beauty was
98
you absent in
i dressed in all his trii every thing
the deep vermilion
figures pattern of  1 tho
.ttr still, and, you away, your shadow
130
I have seen roses no such roses
et well I. know
i34
So, now I have confessed that he is thine, iltnot, florli
I he ml
■
I
nm' thou wilt take, use
i through my unkind abmt. the whole, and yet am I not
135
Will,
Will Will will
will
will
will
will
Will Will will Will
Will
Working Note
I stripped Shakespeare's sonnets bare to the "nets" to make the space of the poems open, porous, possible—a divergent elsewhere. When we write poems, the history of poetry is with us, pre-inscribed in the white of the page; when we read or write poems, we do it with or against this palimpsest.
—Jen Bervin