Violet

Sonnets, [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 silver’d o’er with white;/ When lofty trees I see barren of leaves/ Which eart 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.”