Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd 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 youth
And 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.
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Comments1What a deeply moving piece! The profound imagery likening the passage of life to waves reaching the shore really resonates with me. There's a lovely, but somber, reflection on the transient nature of our youth and beauty, and the relentless march of time. I appreciate the resilience expressed at the end, the everlasting optimism in the face of time's cruel hand. It's a poignant reminder that while our physical selves may age, our worth and the impact of our lives can extend beyond our fleeting existence. Truly thought provoking!