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Sonnet 63

          ,          ,           ,      ,       ,
      Against | my love | shall be | as I | am now,
              ,        ,    2    ,       ,               ,
      With Time's | injur|ious hand | crushed and | oreworn;
             ,             ,            ,            ,           ,
      When hours | have drained | his blood | and filled | his brow
             ,           ,          ,          ,         ,
      With lines | and wrin|kles, when | his youth|ful morn
             ,         ,       ,       ,       ,
      Hath trav|elled on | to age|'s stee|py night;
           ,            ,         ,       ,           ,
      And all | those beau|ties where|of now | he's king
           ,      ,        ,         ,         ,
      Are van|ishing,| or van|ished out | of sight,
        ,           ,         ,        ,          ,
      Stealing | away | the trea|sure of | his spring;
            ,        ,       ,        ,     ,
      For such | a time | do I | now for|tify
          ,          ,        ,      ,       ,
      Against | confoun|ding age|'s cru|el knife,
            ,          ,      ,          ,    ,
      That he | shall ne|ver cut | from me|mory
           ,              ,         ,         ,         ,
      My sweet | love's^beau|ty, though | my lo|ver's life.
            ,       ,      .   T     T     T          ,
      His beau|ty shall | in these black lines | be seen,
            ,            ,         ,        ,             ,
      And they | shall live,| and he | in them | still* green.

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