Sonnet 65

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,

But sad mortality o’er-sways their power,

How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,

Whose action is no stronger than a flower?

O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out

Against the wreckful siege of battering days,

When rocks impregnable are not so stout,

Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?

O fearful meditation; where, alack,

Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid?

Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?

Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?

O, none, unless this miracle have might,

That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

What strength do I have with a flower

To protect beauty,

When mortality has the utmost power,

More than metal, stone, or sea?

How shall summer’s honey hold out

Against the raging days,

When even rocks are not so stout

To prevent what time decays?

It’s a frightening thought, an exasperating

Grief. Where can I hide a jewel from time’s greed?

What hand can grapple with the feet of time leaping?

Compared to time’s callousness, what is my need?

Nothing; it’s nothing. Unless by miracle I might

Protect what I love by what I here write.