William Shakespeare<\/p>\n
The forward violet thus did I chide:
\nSweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
\nIf not from my love’s breath?\u00a0 The purple pride
\nwhich on the soft cheek for complexion dwells
\nIn my love’s veins thou hast too grossly died.
\nThe lily I condemned for thy hand,
\nAnd buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair,
\nThe roses, fearfully on thorns did stand,
\nOne blushing shame, another white despair.
\nA third, nor red, nor white, had stol’n of both
\nAnd to his robbery had annexed thy breath,
\nBut for his theft, in pride of all his growth,
\nA vengeful canker eat him up to death.
\nMore flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
\nBut sweet or colour, it had stolen from thee.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
William Shakespeare The forward violet thus did I chide: Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love’s breath?\u00a0 The purple pride which on the soft cheek for complexion dwells In my love’s veins … Continue reading