segunda-feira, 20 de janeiro de 2014

BEAUTY

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, 
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; 
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, 
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood; 
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st, 
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, 
To the wide world and all her fading sweets; 
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime: 
O! carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, 
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; 
Him in thy course untainted do allow 
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. 
 Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong, 
 My love shall in my verse ever live young.

- Shakespeare, sonnet XIX

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