When I do note the beauty of thine eyes, And think that they have long been sightless dust; When I observe the warrior's envied prize— Helmet and corselet—thick with yellow rust; When scutcheoned doors lie prone in castle halls, And turrets totter, razed by ruthless Time; When panelled bra** from stately column falls, Well-graved with praises writ in lofty rhyme— Then I perceive how all things here decay; That this wide world is but a shifting stage, Where faith and love, fierce pride and pa**ion, play, And narrow lines divide the fool and sage; Where fame's brief candle flickers to its d**h And beauty's reign is measured by a breath.