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  • 1 # 茶3tea

    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 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,

    Born 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 they see others grow;

    And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence

    Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

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