Sonnet XIV - William Shakespeare

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.