At the Heart of It All

Lyrics
To me, fair friend, you never can be old For as you were when first your eye I eyed 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 perceived; So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived: For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred; Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead
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Credits
- Writers
- John Balance
- Peter Christopherson
- Stephen Thrower