Friday, July 8, 2011

Sonnet # 28


by: William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

      OW can I then return in happy plight
      That am debarred the benefit of rest,
      When day's oppression is not eased by night,
      And each, though enemies to either's reign,
      Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
      The one by toil, the other to complain
      How far I toil, still farther off from thee?
      I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright
      And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;
      So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,
      When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild'st the even.
      But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
      And night doth nightly make grief's strength seem stronger.

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