Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore...
Sonnet 60Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked elipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. |
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Just as the waves hurry to the shore, our lives dash towards their ends. Each one taking the place of those that went before them, everyone rushes busily onwards through life. Newborns crawl up to be adults, and enjoy the fullness of their powers only for Time to undo all the good he’s done and make them weak again. Time shoots through youth’s beauty, and deals out wrinkles to the handsomest; he devours the most exquisite of natural beauties, and nothing can withstand him.
Even so, despite all the damage Time does, future generations shall see this verse praising you.
Even so, despite all the damage Time does, future generations shall see this verse praising you.