This Internet page contains photographs which, in certain circumstances, can take a considerable time to download. A poem has been included which you may wish to read - in case you are having to wait. 

POEM

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 girdled up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard;

Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou amongst the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow:

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence,
Save breed, to brave him, when he takes thee hence.

By William Shakespeare (April ?? 1564 to April 23 1616)

Top of page

Home           Archives Archives           Links

END OF PAGE