Sonnet 132
Thine eyes I love, and they, as
pitying me
«William Shakespeare»
Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me,
Knowing thy heart
torment me with disdain,
Have put on black,
and loving mourners be,
Looking with pretty
ruth upon my pain.
And truly not the
morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the
grey cheeks of the east,
Nor that full star
that ushers in the even
Doth half that glory
to the sober west
As those two mourning
eyes become thy face:
O let it then as well
beseem thy heart
To mourn for me since
mourning doth thee grace,
And suit thy pity
like in every part.
Then will I swear
beauty herself is black,
And all they foul
that thy complexion lack.
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