When I do count the clock that tells the time
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And see the brave day sunk in hideous night,
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When I behold the violet past prime
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And sable curls all silvered o'er with white
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When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
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Which erst from heat did canopy the herd
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And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
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Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard:
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Then of thy beauty do I question make
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That though among the wastes of time must go,
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Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
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And die as fast as they see others grow,
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And nothing 'gainst time's scythe can make defense,
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Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
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Primary
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(all right now!)
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The primary means of motivation,
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Walks onto her place on thirteenth street.
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The primary means of motivation,
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Paints a picture on her lover's face
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-----------------
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Theme To Wendel Stivers
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Spoon |