1593-1603 by Shakespeare 
Sonnet 104 

1	To me, fair friend, you never can be old#
2	For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
3	Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
4	Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride#
5	Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned
6	In process of the seasons have I seen,
7	Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned
8	Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
9	Ah yet doth beauty, like a dial hand,
10	Steal from his figure and no pace perceived#
11	So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
12	Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived.
13	For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred:
14	Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead.