can you buy prednisone in canada 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 silver’d 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 girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among 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.
“Breed” here seems to function as a noun – “offspring,” or infinitive, “to breed, to make babies.” And “him” I suppose is death more than God. Or of course “breed” could just be the Venereal deed, as that only by its full fructification seems to stand against Time’s scythe. The world as I have known it is running down; the youthful faces I knew are lined and careworn, and are not as I knew them. But my children are still this day’s creation, and the world is all new to them.
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