Luyện nghe bài hát Xi. Montecute (civ)

To me, fair friend, you can be old,
For as you were when your eye I eyed,
seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook summers' pride,
Three beauteous to yellow autumn turn'd
In process of the seasons I seen,
Three perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet beauty, like a dial-hand,
from his figure and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, methinks still doth stand,
motion and mine eye may be deceived:
For fear of which, this, thou age unbred;
Ere you were born was summer dead.