So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure;
Sometimes all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starvèd for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight
Save what is had, or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 112: Your Love And Pity Doth Th' Impression Fill
- The Blossom
- Sonnet 153: Cupid Laid By His Brand And Fell Asleep
- Sonnet 132: Thine Eyes I Love, And They, As Pitying Me
- Sonnet 27: Weary With Toil, I Haste Me To My Bed