William Shakespeare
1564-1616
Sonnet XXXIX
O! how thy
worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all
the better part of me?
What can mine own
praise to mine own self bring?
And what is't but
mine own when I praise thee?
Even for this, let
us divided live,
And our dear love
lose name of single one,
That by this separation
I may give
That due to thee which
thou deserv'st alone.
O absence! what a
torment wouldst thou prove,
Were it not thy sour
leisure gave sweet leave,
To entertain the time
with thoughts of love,
Which time and thoughts
so sweetly doth deceive,
And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
By praising him here who doth hence remain.
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