Shakespeare's Sonnet 126

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy powerDost hold Time’s fickle glass, his fickle hour;Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’stThy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st.If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skillMay time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:Her audit (though delayed) answered must be,And her quietus is to render thee.

My lovely boy, you hold Time's shifting hourglass and his passing hours in your power. You have grown more beautiful as your life grows shorter, showing how those who love you wither while your own beauty develops. If Nature, the supreme mistress over destruction, keeps pulling you back as you advance toward it, she preserves you to show that her skill can disgrace Time and destroy his miserable minutes. Yet fear her, you favorite of her pleasure! She can delay her treasure's departure, but she cannot keep it forever. Her accounts, though the reckoning is delayed, must finally be settled, and she settles her debt by surrendering you.