And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O! carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
This is a recurring theme in the Sonnets: the power of well-written poetry opposed to the power of time, even the power of death. This trope appears in other Sonnets: 
 
 Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.  (Sonnet 18) 
 And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. (Sonnet 60) 

Sonnet 19