But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? And fortify yourself in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? Now stand you on the top of happy hours, And many maiden gardens yet unset With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers, Much liker than your painted counterfeit: So should the lines of life that life repair, Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, Neither in inward worth nor outward fair, Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. To give away yourself keeps yourself still, And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DESERTED GARDEN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE TRAGEDY OF VALENTINIAN: THE POWER OF LOVE by JOHN FLETCHER A HOLIDAY by LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE THE WIND SUFFERS by LAURA RIDING THE DANUBE RIVER by C. HAMILTON AIDE ENDURANCE by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN FOUR SONNETS: 2 by FRANK DAVIS ASHBURN |