English Poetry I: From Chaucer to Gray.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. |
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| 117. Sixtieth Sonnet |
| | | William Shakespeare (1564–1616) |
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| 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, | 5 |
| Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d, | |
| Crooked eclipses ’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; | 10 |
| 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. | |
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