Sonnet CVII: Not mine own Fears, nor the Prophetic Soul
Sonnet CVII: Not mine own Fears, nor the Prophetic Soul
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes;
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.
Miscellany
Other poems by William Shakespeare (read randomly)
I never saw that you did painting need
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
The forward violet thus did I chide:
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that …
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart
Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most de
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow which I then did feel
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
