The speaker admits he’s utterly possessed by self-love—it’s in his eyes, his soul, every inch of him, and he thinks there’s no cure. He genuinely believes no face is as gracious as his, no shape as true, and he ranks his worth far above everyone else’s. But when he looks in a mirror, the truth is harsh: he sees a face beaten and tanned by age, nothing like his flattering self-image. This contradiction makes his self-love seem absurd and sinful. The sonnet then takes an unexpected turn. The speaker realizes that the only way he can love himself without guilt is to love the beloved, in whom he sees his own lost youth. So his self-praise really becomes praise of you—using your beauty to paint over his age. The mood moves from boastful to humbled, and the final couplet feels intimate and bittersweet.
Sonnet 62: Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye — Summary
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in my heart. Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, No shape so true, no truth of such account; And for myself mine own worth do define, As I all other in all worths surmount. But when my glass shows me myself indeed Beated and chopp'd with tanned antiquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; Self so self-loving were iniquity. 'Tis thee,--myself,--that for myself I praise, Painting my age with beauty of thy days.