| Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875. |
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| W. Shakespeare |
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| XXX. Revolutions |
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| LIKE as the waves make towards the pebbled shore | |
| So do our minutes hasten to their end; | |
| Each changing place with that which goes before, | |
| In sequent toil all forwards do contend. | |
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| Nativity, once in the main of light, | 5 |
| Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, | |
| Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, | |
| And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. | |
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| Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, | |
| And delves the parallels in beauty's brow; | 10 |
| Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, | |
| And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:— | |
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| And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand | |
| Praising Thy worth, despite his cruel hand. | |
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