Sonnet 1 Sonnet 3 Sonnet 12 Sonnet 18 Sonnet 19 Sonnet 20 Sonnet 29 Sonnet 30 Sonnet 33 Sonnet 55 Sonnet 60 Sonnet 65 Sonnet 71 Sonnet 73 Sonnet 94 Sonnet 106 Sonnet 116 Sonnet 126 Sonnet 127 Sonnet 129 Sonnet 130 Sonnet 138 Sonnet 144 Sonnet 146 Sonnet 147

Sonnet 12

Original Text

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;

Modern English

When I watch the clock as it marks the passing hours, and see the bright day swallowed up by hideous night, when I notice the violet past its bloom, and dark hair gone entirely silver with age —

Original Text

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,

Modern English

when I see tall trees stripped bare of leaves, the same trees that once sheltered the herds from summer heat, and summer's green crops bundled up in sheaves, carried away like a corpse, bristling and old —

Original Text

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;

Modern English

then I start to worry about your beauty, knowing that you too must be lost to time's erosion, since all sweet and beautiful things abandon themselves and die as fast as they watch others grow in their place.

Original Text

And nothing ’gainst Time’s scythe can make defence Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

Modern English

Nothing can stand against Time's scythe except children — to defy him when he comes for you.

Shakespeare's Sonnets

Sonnet 12

Sonnet 12