The speaker claims that nothing saddens him more than the speed of aging—only because he won’t live long enough to watch his beloved grow old. He then vividly imagines each detail of her future decay: her sparkling eyes becoming hollow sockets, her smooth brow creased with lines, her curled hair turning to rough grey moss, her rosy cheeks sinking, her lips thinning, and her teeth falling out until her nose nearly meets her chin. The descriptions are almost grotesquely playful. But the final couplet reveals his real bitterness: right now she scorns his love poems, which should flatter her youth. He promises that when she is old and withered, he will force her to read these same lines again—not to charm her, but purely to humiliate her. The mood flickers between a twisted, teasing affection and a cold desire for revenge. It’s less a love poem than a curse disguised as a fantasy.
Sonnet VIII: There's Nothing Grieves Me — Summary
There's nothing grieves me, but that Age should haste, That in my days I may not see thee old, That where those two clear sparkling eyes are plac'd Only two loop-holes then I might behold; That lovely, arched, ivory, polish'd brow Defac'd with wrinkles that I might but see; Thy dainty hair, so curl'd and crisped now, Like grizzled moss upon some aged tree; Thy cheek, now flush with roses, sunk and lean; Thy lips with age as any wafer thin; Thy pearly teeth out of thy head so clean That, when thou feed'st, thy nose shall touch thy chin. These lines that now thou scorn'st, which should delight thee, Then would I make thee read but to despite thee.