Sonnet 12

Time destroys all beauty; only children ('breed') can outlast time's destructive power.

Original
Modern
1 When I do count the clock that tells the time,
When I count the clock that measures time,
2 And see the brave day sunk in hideous night,
And watch the beautiful day sink into hideous night,
3 When I behold the violet past prime,
When I see the violet past its peak,
4 And sable curls all silvered o’er with white:
And dark hair all turned silver with age,
5 When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
When I see tall trees stripped bare of leaves,
6 Which erst from heat did canopy the herd
Which once provided shade from the heat for livestock,
7 And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves
And summer's green all bound up in bundles
8 Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard:
Carried on a funeral bier, white and dry as aged stubble,
9 Then of thy beauty do I question make
Then I start to question your beauty—
10 That thou among the wastes of time must go,
That you too will fall into time's wasteland.
11 Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
Since beautiful things abandon themselves,
12 And die as fast as they see others grow,
And die as quickly as new beauty appears.
Volta Moves from relentless catalogue of decay to revealing the single antidote: breeding, or procreation, is the only defense against time's scythe.
13 And nothing ’gainst Time’s scythe can make defence
And nothing can defend against time's scythe,
14 Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence.
Except having children to defy him when he takes you away.
Time's Devastation Catalogue

Sonnet 12 opens with one of Shakespeare's greatest passages of temporal dissolution: the clock counting time, the day sinking into night, flowers wilting, trees stripped bare, hair silvering. This accumulation of images makes aging feel inevitable, universal, and absolute. Against this relentless decay, the sonnet offers one antidote: procreation. Only children represent genuine victory over time because only they survive and outlast time's own victims.

Breed as Defiance

The final couplet's argument is stark: 'nothing stands but for [time's] scythe to mow / Save breed to brave him.' Children are humanity's only defiance of death's finality. This turns procreation from private matter to cosmic rebellion. By having children, you don't just continue your line—you resist the universe's entropy. Procreation becomes an ethical and spiritual act against time itself.

If this happened today

Time always wins—you'll age, your looks fade, your money becomes irrelevant. But your kids are the only legacy that feels like immortality.