Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked elipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
Time, like waves, accelerate to their end. Each wave replaces one before it, just like minutes do. Each wave marching towards the beach in a march, one after the other. It goes on to explain, a life, comparing it to the sun. A new life compared to the rising sun, and as it matures, the sun rises to the peak at noon. time begins to fight against this kingly sun and time which gave that glory and youth takes it all away. Time makes you old and takes away beauty by marking the skin with wrinkles. Nothing stands in the way of time and death. Shakespeare hopes that his writings will survive time and be always remembered, despite time.
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