New sonnets from Shakespeare.
One every five minutes.

The little Love-god lying once asleep,
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
But since your worth--wide as the ocean is,--
Like him that travels, I return again;
Till each to raz'd oblivion yield his part
And given grace a double majesty.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
But makes antiquity for aye his page;
   For nothing this wide universe I call,
   Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again.

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