Shakespeare Sonnet 19
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s paws
And make the Earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood; 4
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet’st
And do whate’er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets.
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: 8
O, carve not with thy hours my love’s fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in the course untainted do allow
For beauty’s pattern to succeeding men. 12
Yet do thy worst, old Time; despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.