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/sonnet-60-like-as-the-waves-make-towards-the-pebbl-d-shore/
