Sonnet 12

　　When I do count the clock that tells the time.

　　And see the brave day sunk in hideous night；

　　When I behold the violet past prime，

　　And sable curls all silvered o'er with white；

　　When lofty gees I see barren of leaves，

　　Which erst from heat did canopy the herd.

　　And summer's green all girded up in sheaves

　　Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard：

　　Then of thy beauty do I question make

　　That thou among the was