Shakespeare's Sonnet #12

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When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls, all silvered o’er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves, Borne ...

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A thoughtful and melancholic oil painting of a man contemplating the passage of time. He is seated in a rustic room, surrounded by fading flowers and a ticking clock. The sunlight streams in through a window, casting a warm glow on the aging man and the objects around him. A poem about the inevitability of time and aging is inscribed on the wall, adding a sense of depth and emotion to the scene.