Shakespeare Sonnet #63

Against my love shall be as I am now,

with time's injurious hand crushed o'erworn

when hours have drained his blood and filled his brow

with lines and wrinkles, when his youthful morn

hath travelled on to age's steepy night

And all of beauties whereof now he's king

Are vanishing or vanished out of sight,

Stealing away the treasure of his spring;

For such a time do I now fortity.

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 this black lines be seen

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