Delia: Sonnet 37

WHen VVinter snowes vpon thy golden haires,
And frost of age hath nipt thy flowers neere,
VVhen dark shal seeme thy day that neuer cleeres,
And all lies withred that was held so deere.
Then take this picture which I heere present thee,
Limned with a Pensill not all vnworthy:
Heere see the gifts that God and nature lent thee,
Heare reade thy selfe, and what I suffred for thee.
This may remaine thy lasting monument,
Which happily posteritie may cherrish,
These colours with thy fading are not spent,
These may remaine when thou and I shall perrish.
If they remaine, then thou shalt liue thereby.
They will remaine, and so thou canst not die.