| SONNET 12 | PARAPHRASE |
|---|---|
| When I do count the clock that tells the time | When I count the ticking of the clock |
| And see the brave day sunk in hideous night, | and watch the beautiful day sink into black night, |
| When I behold the violet past prime | when I look at the faded violet |
| And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white, | and her petals turn white, |
| When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, | when I see large trees without leaves, |
| Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, | which before, in the summer's heat, gave shade to the animals, |
| And summer's green all girded up in sheaves | and the summer's harvest gathered in sheaves |
| Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard, | is carried on a funeral bier looking like an old, bristly beard, |
| Then of thy beauty do I question make | then I ask myself what worth is your beauty |
| That thou among the wastes of time must go, | if in the future it will die out, |
| Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, | since we know that sweets and beauty spoil (over time) |
| And die as fast as they see others grow, | and will die out even while watching others grow. |
| And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence | Nothing can stop the ceaseless march of Time |
| Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. | except breeding, which defies the inevitability of death. |