Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore, <br /> So do our minutes hasten to their end; <br /> Each changing place with that which goes before, <br /> In sequent toil all forwards do contend. <br /> Nativity, once in the main of light, <br /> Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, <br /> Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, <br /> And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. <br /> Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth <br /> And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, <br /> Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, <br /> And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: <br /> And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, <br /> Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnets-lx-like-as-the-waves-make-towards-the-pe/
