XIX

    Devouring² Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, And make the earth devour¹ her own sweet brood； Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws³, And burn the long-liv'd phoenix⁴, in her blood； Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets, And do whate'er thou wilt⁵, swift-footed Time, To the wide world and all her fading sweets； But I forbid thee one most heinous⁶ crime： O！ carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen； Him in thy course untainted do allow For beauty's pattern to succeeding men. Yet, do thy worst old Time： despite thy wrong, My love shall in my verse ever live young.