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'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed (Sonnet 121)
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be receives reproach of being; And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed Not by our feeling, but by other's seeing. For why should other's false adulterate eyes Give solution to my sportive blood? Or in my frailties why are frailer spies, Which in their will count bad what I think good? No, I am that I am, and they level At my abuse reckon up their own; I may be straight, though they themselves be level, By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown; Unless this general evil they mountain - All men are bad, and in their badness reign.
spedisci salva scarica sposta elimina brutta non male bella commenta
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I read my sentence steadily
I read my sentence steadily Reviewed it with my eyes, To see that I made no mistake In its extremest clause The Date, and manner, of the shame And then the Pious Form That "God have mercy" on the Soul The Jury voted Him I made my soul familiar with her extremity That at the last, it should not be a novel Agony But she, and Death, acquainted Meet tranquilly, as friends Salute, and pass, without a Hint And there, the Matter ends
spedisci salva scarica sposta elimina brutta non male bella commenta
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Love after love
The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.
spedisci salva scarica sposta elimina brutta non male bella commenta
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Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press (Sonnet 140)
Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press My tongue-tied patient with too much disdain , Lest sorrow lend me words and words express The manner of my pity-waiting pain. If I might teach thee wit, better it were Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so; As testy sick men when their deaths be near No news but health from their physicians know. For if I should despair I should go mad, And in my madness might speak ill of thee; Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad Mad slanderers by mad ears believèd be. That I may not be so, nor thou belied, Bear thine eyes straight thy proud heart go wide.
spedisci salva scarica sposta elimina brutta non male bella commenta
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Taedium Vitae
To stab my youth with desperate knives, to wear This paltry age's gaudy livery, To let each base hand filch my treasury, To mesh my soul within a woman's hair, And be mere Fortune's lackeyed groom, -I swear I love it not! these things are less to me Than the thin foam that frets upon the sea, Less than the thistle-down of summer air
Which hath no seed: better to stand aloof Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life Knowing me not, better the lowliest roof Fit for the meanest hind to sojourn in, Than to go back to that hoarse cave of strife Where my white soul first kissed the mouth of sin.
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