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Shakespeare, William: XII. Sonnet

Portre of Shakespeare, William

XII. Sonnet (English)

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,
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 rhey see others grow:

And  nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee thence.



Uploaded byDvorcsák Gábor Imre
PublisherOxquarry Books Ltd
Source of the quotationThe amazing web site of Shakespeare' sonnets

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