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 Explained:

When contemplating the passage of time and the inevitable effects it has on the world around us, a sense of melancholy often accompanies such reflections. The transformation of vibrant days into somber nights, the fading of once-vibrant violets, and the alteration of lush greenery into sheaves, all evoke a profound contemplation on the transient nature of beauty and life. This poignant sonnet delves into the immutable passage of time, the fleeting nature of beauty, and the relentless march of existence towards its inevitable conclusion. As the poet ponders the impact of time on the world and its inhabitants, there’s a recognition that despite the unyielding force of time, the continuation of life through progeny serves as the only defense against the inexorable scythe of Time.

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