Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlooked for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread,
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in themselves their pride lies burièd,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famousèd for fight,
After a thousand victories once foiled,
Is from the book of honour razèd quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled.
Then happy I that love and am beloved
Where I may not remove nor be removed.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 87: Farewell! Thou Art Too Dear For My Possessing
- Sonnet 71: No Longer Mourn For Me When I Am Dead
- Sonnet 147: My Love Is As A Fever, Longing Still
- Sonnet 151: Love Is Too Young To Know What Conscience Is
- Sonnet 28: How Can I Then Return In Happy Plight