New sonnets from Shakespeare.
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SONNET CDXXVII
O! from what power hast thou this powerful might,
With eager compounds we our palate urge;
Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
These present-absent with swift motion slide.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble,
But these particulars are not my measure,
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again.
O! let my looks be then the eloquence
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd,
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee:
   For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
   Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.

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