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XIX.
Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make
the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen
teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the
long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry
seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate'er thou wilt,
swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her
fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous
crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair
brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's
pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst, old
Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse
ever live young.
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