Shakespeare's Sonnet 60

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

Like waves moving toward a pebbled shore, our minutes hurry toward their end. Each takes the place of the one before it, and all struggle forward in an unbroken line. A newborn, once out in the wide world of light, crawls toward maturity. Once crowned with adulthood, its glory faces attacks from cruel eclipses, and Time now destroys the gift it once gave. Time pierces the bloom of youth and digs parallel wrinkles into beauty’s forehead. It feeds on nature’s rarest and finest things, and everything stands only to be cut down by its scythe. Yet I hope my poetry will survive into future times, praising your worth despite Time’s cruel hand.