Jan 18, 2025
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“Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate”
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“No longer mourn for me when I am dead, than you shall hear the surly sullen bell”
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“My love is as a fever, longing stillFor that which longer nurseth the disease,Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please.”
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“When my love swears that she is made of truth,I do believe her, though I know she lies,That she might think me some untutored youth,Unlearnèd in the world’s false subtleties.”
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“When forty winters shall besiege thy browAnd dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,Thy youth’s proud livery, so gazed on now,Will be a tattered weed, of small worth held.”
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“When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughtI summon up remembrance of things past,I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste.”
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“To me, fair friend, you never can be old,For as you were when first your eye I eyed,Such seems your beauty still.”
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“How heavy do I journey on the way,When what I seek, my weary travel’s end,Doth teach that ease and that repose to say‘Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!”
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