O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?
And what is't but mine own when I praise thee?
Even for this let us divided live,
And our dear love lose name of single one,
That by this separation I may give
That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone.
O, absence what a torment wouldst thou prove,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,
And that thou teachest how to make one twain
By praising him here who doth hence remain!
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 46: Mine Eye And Heart Are At A Mortal War
- Sonnet 63: Against My Love Shall Be, As I Am Now
- Sonnet 34: Why Didst Thou Promise Such A Beauteous Day
- Sonnet Cvii: Not Mine Own Fears, Nor The Prophetic Soul
- Sonnet 76: Why Is My Verse So Barren Of New Pride?