VVHen I doe count the clock that tels the time,

And see the braue day sunck in hidious night,

When I behold the violet past prime,

And sable curls or siluer'd ore with white:

 

When lofty trees I see barren of leaues,

Which erst from heat did canopie the herd

And Sommers greene all girded vp in sheaues

Borne on the beare with white and bristly beard:

 

Then of thy beauty do I question make

That thou among the wastes of time must goe,

Since sweets and beauties do them-selues forsake,

And die as fast as they see others grow,

 

And nothing gainst Times sieth can make defence

Saue breed to braue him, when he takes thee hence.

 

William Shakespear