No more by what you think I can ne'er know,
Such subtle thought in reverse reflexion,
That by e'ery fair face you still behold,
And to my mind hath weaved
A laurel wreath thy myrtle crown
Of all vicissitudes of the sky!
Not least to desecrate thine holy eye, love,
Something to wonder at thy golden brow;
The world is deemed to uplift the veil
Of what by night to stars hath rent,
This mirror that shows not half thy part,
Doth thy age-old visage hide.
(C) Hamnet Shakespeare
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All Rights Reserved.
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Comments about this poem (Lavender by Hamnet Shakespeare )
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