1 When I do count the clock that tells the time,
2 And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
3 When I behold the violet past prime,
4 And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white;
5 When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
6 Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
7 And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
8 Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
9 Then of thy beauty do I question make,
10 That thou among the wastes of time must go,
11 Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
12 And die as fast as they see others grow;
13 And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
14 Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
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