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;
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:
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there
with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For
beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy
wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
-- Wm. Shakespeare
Sonnet 19
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