William Shakespeare
Warwickshire
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Sonnet Lxiii

Rating: 5.0
Against my love shall be, as I am now,
With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er-worn;
When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night,
And all those beauties whereof now he's king
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
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COMMENTS
Dr Antony Theodore 14 April 2019
we as readers taste his greatness. tony
0 0 Reply
Brian Jani 26 April 2014
Awesome I like this poem, check mine out
0 1 Reply

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