William Shakespeare
1564-1616
Sonnet CXLV
Those lips
that Love's own hand did make,
Breathed forth the
sound that said 'I hate',
To me that languish'd
for her sake:
But when she saw my
woeful state,
Straight in her heart
did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue
that ever sweet
Was us'd in giving
gentle doom;
And taught it thus
anew to greet;
'I hate' she alter'd
with an end,
That followed it as
gentle day,
Doth follow night,
who like a fiend
From heaven to hell
is flown away.
'I hate', from hate away she threw,
And sav'd my life, saying 'not you'.
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