Friday, February 16, 2007

English Poetry: Sonnet XI

I suppose it's about time I had something from the immortal bard. I'm not a great fan of Shakespeare's sonnets myself, but I know they are popular.

THEY that have power to hurt, and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmovèd, cold, and to temptation slow,—
They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces,
And husband nature’s riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others, but stewards of their excellence.

The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die;
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

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