When I do count the clock that tells the time
Sonnet 12When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls, all silvered o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard, Then of thy beauty do I question make, That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake And die as fast as they see others grow; And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. Buy and Download...Click HERE
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I see the hands of the clock going round, and each day turned into night. I see the gorgeous curls of the violet shrivelled and covered in frost, and the tall trees (which not long before provided such leafy shade for the cattle) quite bare. The summer sheaves of wheat are taken in at harvest, carried away like old men's corpses.
When I see all these things, I wonder about your beauty: you too must undergo these transformations. Lovely things expire all the time, as others spring up to take their place. Nothing can stop Time's actions – except to procreate. That way you can laugh in his face when it's time for you to die.