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William Shakespeare, Sonnet xii

When 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,
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And sable curls, all silver'd 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,
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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,
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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.

Notes

line 4: All: the original has er. [ Back to text ]

Most notes to Shakespeare's sonnets are from Charles Knight's edition, but those in square brackets are mine.