Sonnet Cxix:

CXIX If history, that feeds upon the past, Reserve some corner of respect for me, Where for a while the gaping years may see A poet's fickle fortunes anchored fast; No marble sculpture, or no brazen cast Will tell me truly, unless there shall be Hollowed within it, as a shrine for thee, Some sacred niche. enduring while I last. Thus let me have my monument designed: A radiant form, almost sustained in air, Whose face shall strive thy lineaments to wear; Another form, mere man in shape and mind, Turning his churlish back against mankind, Forever kneeling to that lady fair.