Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate'
To me that languish'd for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
'I hate' she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away;
'I hate' from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying 'not you.'
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 51: Thus Can My Love Excuse The Slow Offence
- Sonnet Cxxviii
- Sonnet 134: So, Now I Have Confessed That He Is Thine
- Sonnet Cix
- Sonnet 84: Who Is It That Says Most, Which Can Say More