Poem – When I Do Count The Clock That Tells The Time – William Shakespeare

Sonnet 12: 

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 they see others grow; 

And nothing ‘gainst Time’s scythe can make defence 

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

Poem – To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old – William Shakespeare

Sonnet 104: 
To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 

For as you were when first your eye I ey’d, 

Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold, 

Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride, 

Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn’d, 

In process of the seasons have I seen, 

Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn’d, 

Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 

Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand, 

Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv’d; 

So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 

Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv’d: 

For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred: 

Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead.