Sonnet 52

So am I as the rich, whose blessèd key

Can bring him to his sweet up-lockèd treasure,

The which he will not ev’ry hour survey

For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure;

Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,

Since, seldom coming, in the long year set,

Like stones of worth they thinly placèd are,

Or captain jewels in the carcanet;

So is the time that keeps you as my chest,

Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide

To make some special instant special blest,

By new unfolding his imprison’d pride.

Blessèd are you whose worthiness gives scope,

Being had, to triumph; being lack’d, to hope.

I’m rich like a man with a sacred key

That unlocks a secret, stored-up treasure.

He just brings it out occasionally,

Since to see it just sometimes sweetens the pleasure.

That’s why banquets and holidays are rare,

So they seldom come. In their place in the year,

Like gemstones, they’re scattered, few and far,

Not crowded, out nightly, in the way of a star.

The time that keeps you when you’re not with me

Is like a prized box of jewelry,

An attic with a dress for pageantry,

Eternity concealing ecstasy.

Blessèd are you, so precious you give scope

To grace when I have you—and when I don’t, hope.