Prescanned Shakespeare.com
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Against | my love | shall be | as I | am now,
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With Time's | injur|ious hand | crushed and |
oreworn;
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When hours | have drained | his blood | and
filled | his brow
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With lines | and wrink|les, when | his youth|ful
morn
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Hath trav|elled on | to age|'s stee|py night;
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And all | those beaut|ies where|of now | he's
king
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Are van|ishing,| or van|ished out | of sight,
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Stealing | away | the treas|ure of | his spring;
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For such | a time | do I | now for|tify
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Against | confound|ing age|'s cru|el knife,
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That he | shall nev|er cut | from mem|ory
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My sweet | love's^beaut|y, though | my lov|er's
life.
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His beaut|y shall | in these black lines | be
seen,
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And they | shall live,| and he | in them | still*
green.