Sonnet 19

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.

Time, take even the lion down.

Let the earth rust.

Subdue the tiger without a sound.

Turn the phoenix to dust.

Make lush or barren seasons as you fly,

And do whatever you want, time,

To every fruit fallen under the sky.

But you will not commit one crime:

You will not vandalize my lover’s body

Or lay a hand on the sculptor’s work.

You’ll let it stand, its shape and beauty

Uneroded—not a single mark.

Or do your worst, cast your ruin in cement.

My love stays young, in this poem monument.