Sonnet Lx

Like 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.

by William Shakespeare

Comments (2)

Awesome I like this poem, check mine out
Whats given free is taken free away That born of time may come, but doth not stay Life's gifts it seems are given by time's hand And such it is they never long shall stand And yet these simple words, where all began Endure, for they support a grander plan Thank you Will Egal Bohen..