New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.
One every five minutes.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
And do not drop in for an after-loss:
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
And taught it thus anew to greet;
And do so, love; yet when they have devis'd,
That you yourself may privilage your time
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,
When others would give life, and bring a tomb.
Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
Than both your poets can in praise devise.
