Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A PROPER SONNET, HOW TIME CONSUMETH ALL EARTHLY THINGS, by THOMAS PROCTOR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A PROPER SONNET, HOW TIME CONSUMETH ALL EARTHLY THINGS, by                    
First Line: Ay me, ay me, I sigh to see the scythe afield
Last Line: For all is thine, be it good or bad, that grows.
Subject(s): Time


Ay me, ay me, I sigh to see the scythe afield.
Down goeth the grass, soon wrought to withered hay;
Ay me alas, ay me alas, that beauty needs must yield
And princes pass, as grass doth fade away.
Ay me, ay me, that life cannot have lasting leave,
Nor gold take hold of everlasting joy:
Ay me alas, ay me alas, that Time hath talents to receive,
And yet no time can make a sure stay.
Ay me, ay me, that wit cannot have wished choice,
Nor wish can win that will desires to see:
Ay me alas, ay me alas, that mirth can promise no rejoice,
Nor study tell what afterward shall be.
Ay me, ay me, that no sure staff is given to age
Nor age can give sure wit that youth will take:
Ay me alas, ay me alas, that no counsel wise and sage
Will shun the show that all doth mar and make.
Ay me, ay me, come Time, shear on, and shake thy hay,
It is no boot to baulk thy bitter blows:
Ay me alas, ay me alas, come Time, take everything away,
For all is thine, be it good or bad, that grows.






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