Sonnet 53

What is your substance, whereof are you made,

That millions of strange shadows on you tend?

Since every one hath, every one, one shade,

And you, but one, can every shadow lend.

Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit

Is poorly imitated after you.

On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set,

And you in Grecian tires are painted new.

Speak of the spring and foison of the year:

The one doth shadow of your beauty show,

The other as your bounty doth appear,

And you in every blessèd shape we know.

In all external grace you have some part,

But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

What are you made of—beauty—of what are you made

That so many things receive life from your presence?

Everything in which you are revealed

Is unique, always just one instance.

There was only one Adonis; only one goddess

Of beauty; only one Helen, before the fall

Of Troy. Try to re-create them, the result will be less,

For we are not you and only witness it all.

Speak of the spring or the harvest of the year.

The first just anticipates. To yourself it’s half-near.

But the harvest on our table, its beauty is full-clear.

You’re in every blessèd thing we see or hear.

To all allure in the world you are graceful,

But you slip away easy. To no thing are you faithful.