名人诗歌|THE SONNETS by William Shakespeare (12)

XII

When I do count the clock that tells the time， And see the brave day sunk in hideous^{1 night； When I behold2 the violet past prime， And sable3 curls， all silvered o'er with white； When lofty trees I see barren of leaves， Which erst from heat did canopy4 the herd5， And summer's green all girdedup 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 forsake6 And die as fast as they see others grow； And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe7 can make defence Save breed， to brave him when he takes thee hence.}