Stress Free Poetry

My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time’s furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate. For all that beauty that doth cover thee Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: How can I then be elder than thou art? O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary As I, not for myself, but for thee will; Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.     Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;     Thou gav’st me thine, not to give back again.  By ( William Shakespeare )

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 silver’d o’er with white;  When lofty trees 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 wastes of time must go,  Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake  And die as fast as they see others grow;      And nothing ‘gainst Time’s scythe can make defense      Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. BY (WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE)