1593-1603 by Shakespeare 
Sonnet 14 

1	Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck,
2	And yet methinks I have astronomy#
3	But not to tell of good or evil luck,
4	Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality.
5	Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
6	’Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind,
7	Or say with princes if it shall go well
8	By oft predict that I in heaven find#
9	But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
10	And, constant stars, in them I read such art
11	As truth and beauty shall together thrive
12	If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert.
13	Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
14	Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date.