Time, cruel Time

Time, cruel Time, canst thou subdue that brow

That conquers all but thee, and thee too stays,

As if she were exempt from scythe or bow,

From love and years, unsubject to decays?

Or art thou grown in league with those fair eyes,

That they might aid thee to consume our days?

Or doest thou love her for her cruelties,

Being merciless like thee that no man weighs?

Then do so still, although she makes so 'steem

Of days nor years, but lets them run in vain.

Hold still thy swift-winged hours, that wond'ring seem

To gaze on her, even to turn back again;

And do so still, although she nothing cares.

Do as I do, love her although unkind.

Hold still. Yet, O I fear, at unawares

Thou wilt beguile her though thou seem'st so kind.