O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
William ShakespeareLove's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.
William ShakespeareO, here Will I set up my everlasting rest And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From the world-wearied flesh
William ShakespeareLove's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come.
William Shakespeare