Sonnet 63

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

My sweet love’s beauty, though my lover’s life:

His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,

And they shall live, and he in them, still green.

Equipped for when my love shall be

As I am now, broken by time,

Drained by hours, injured without sympathy;

From morning, making the climb

To the edge of age’s cliff,

His springtime beauty vanishing

Into a wintry hieroglyph,

He’ll no longer be a king;

Equipped, now I avail myself

And thrust my pen against age’s knife,

And keep my love forever safe,

Though time take away his life.

In these black lines his beauty will be seen,

And he shall live—forever green.