Reading old chronicles and love poems, the speaker comes across lavish descriptions of long-dead ladies and lovely knights – their hands, lips, eyes, and brows all celebrated in antique rhyme. He suddenly realises that those ancient writers, who only guessed at the future, were clumsily prefiguring the person he loves today. All their flattering verses become strange prophecies, because they lacked the skill to capture a beauty they could barely imagine. The final couplet lands with a quiet ache: we who actually see you right now possess eyes to wonder but no tongues capable of proper praise. The sonnet moves in a mood of tender frustration and timeless admiration – the beloved seems to outrun language itself, leaving even the most devoted speaker stranded in silence.
Sonnet 106: When in the chronicle of wasted time — Summary
When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rime, In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have express'd Even such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all you prefiguring; And for they looked but with divining eyes, They had not skill enough your worth to sing: For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.