Sonnet 41, Uprooted Heavier

Uprooted heavier than plough of steel,
The faltered moment for the avert eye;
And like the time aging fast forward weel,
Moment of the hour that will lose and die.
We spend our time with occasion's found,
And greeting good morrow that forthly goes;
Burning age fast with benignant beam bound,
Rays of rising dawn pastured on a rose.

Wonders of the world without any names,
Relising the hour that will come again,
To the foul dark twisting this prow and age;
Burning in the sky red and yellow flames,
Until there's prosper satisfaction begin,
To relase the kindle that new day will engage.