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William Shakespeare - Sonnet 60: :Like as the waves make towards the pebbl`d shore..."
Work rating: Medium

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl`d 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,
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,
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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