O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power <br />Dost hold Time's fickle glass his fickle hour; <br />Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st <br />Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st. <br />If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack, <br />As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back, <br />She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill <br />May Time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. <br />Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure! <br />She may detain, but not still keep her treasure. <br /> Her audit, though delayed, answered must be, <br /> And her quietus is to render thee.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-126-o-thou-my-lovely-boy-who-in-thy-power/
