Sonnets

SyllablesSonnet 2 William Shakespeare When forty winters shall besiege thy brow And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field, Thy youth’s proud livery, so gazed on now, Will be a tattered weed, of small worth held. Then being asked where all thy beauty lies— Where all the treasure of thy lusty days— To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. How much more praise deserved thy beauty’s use If thou couldst answer "This fair child of mine Shall sum my count and make my old excuse", Proving his beauty by succession thine. This were to be new made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.

Sonnet 12: When I do count the clock that tells the time BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 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 silver’d 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. PROSE