When in the chronicle of wasted timeI see descriptions of th…

When in the chronicle of wasted timeI see descriptions of the fairest wights,And beauty making beautiful old rhymeIn 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’dEven such a beauty as you master now.So all their praises are but propheciesOf this our time, all you prefiguring;And, for they look’d but with divining eyes,They had not skill enough your worth to sing:For we, which now behold these present days,Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. Where long the shadows of the wind had rolledGreen wheat was yielding to the change assigned;And as my some vast magic undivinedThe world was turning slowly to gold.Like nothing that was ever bought or soldIt waited there, the body and the mind;And with a mighty meaning of a kindThat tells the more the more it is not told.So in a land where all days are not fair,Fair days went on till on another dayA thousand golden sheaves were lying there,Shining and still, but not for long to stay —As if a thousand girls with golden hairMight rise from where they slept and go away. Which sonnet is a Shakespearean sonnet?