Sonnet 19

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-liv’d phoenix in her blood; Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet’st, And do what e’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.