New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.
One every five minutes.
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
Or bends with the remover to remove:
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Against the wrackful siege of battering days,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd:
Ay me! but yet thou mightst my seat forbear,
Not making worse what nature made so clear,
Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate;
'Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow,
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
