A meditation on time, addressed to the young man: minutes crash forward like waves, and Time destroys everything it gives — youth, beauty, life itself. Only the poet's verse, praising the young man, will withstand it.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Just as waves push toward the pebbled shore, our minutes hurry toward their end, each one trading places with the one ahead of it, all of them straining forward in relentless sequence.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
Crooked eclipses ’gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Birth, once launched into the wide sea of light, crawls toward maturity — and no sooner is it crowned with that glory than crooked eclipses fight against it, and Time, who gave the gift, now destroys it.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
Time punctures the bloom he set on youth, digs parallel trenches across beauty's forehead, devours nature's rarest and most genuine treasures — nothing stands except as material for his scythe to mow down.
And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand.
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
And yet, in ages still to come, my poetry will stand, praising your worth despite his cruel hand.
Sonnet 60 summary
A meditation on time, addressed to the young man: minutes crash forward like waves, and Time destroys everything it gives — youth, beauty, life itself. Only the poet's verse, praising the young man, will withstand it.
Famous lines in Sonnet 60, explained
- “Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end;” (line 1)
- The famous opening image makes time visible: minutes follow one another like waves, each pushed forward and replaced by the next, none able to stop. Even the sonnet's number — 60, like the minutes in an hour — quietly reinforces the clockwork relentlessness the lines describe.
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About this translation: the original text follows the public-domain Project Gutenberg Globe edition; the modern English translation was written in-house for Polytranslator and is reviewed on an ongoing basis (last revised August 2026). Free to print and photocopy for classroom use. Cite as: “Sonnets, Sonnet 60. Polytranslator side-by-side translation, polytranslator.com/shakespeare/sonnets/sonnet-60.”
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Free side-by-side translation — polytranslator.com/shakespeare/sonnets/sonnet-60