Sonnet 14

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck,

And yet methinks I have astronomy,

But not to tell of good or evil luck,

Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality;

Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,

Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,

Or say with princes if it shall go well

By oft predict that I in heaven find.

But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,

And, constant stars, in them I read such art

As truth and beauty shall together thrive

If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;

Or else of thee this I prognosticate:

Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date.

Not from the stars do I gather my information,

And yet I think I have some clairvoyance.

Not in prophesy or superstition:

I can’t tell of plagues or the fate of a prince.

I can’t tell your fortune right down to the minute,

What thunder, what rain, what wind you’ll face and when.

I don’t know how it will go with your dreams, fret,

Fantasize, pray as I might to heaven.

But from your eyes my knowledge I receive,

And the stars there have just one constant message:

“Truth and beauty will forever thrive

If from yourself, you’d give them carriage.”

Or else of this I’m completely convinced:

Time will not be with you, but completely against.