| When I do count the clock that tells the time
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| And see the brave day sunk in hideous night,
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| When I behold the violet past prime
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| And sable curls all silvered o’er with white
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| When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
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| Which erst from heat did canopy the herd
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| And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves
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| Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard:
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| Then of thy beauty do I question make
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| That though among the wastes of time must go,
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| Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
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| And die as fast as they see others grow,
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| And nothing 'gainst Time’s scythe can make defense,
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| Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
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| Primary
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| (All right now!)
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| The primary means of motivation,
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| Walks onto her place on thirteenth street.
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| The primary means of motivation,
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| Paints a picture on her lover’s face. |