William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

Sonnet Xlviii - Poem by William Shakespeare

Play Poem Video

How careful was I, when I took my way,
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,
That to my use it might unused stay
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
Most worthy of comfort, now my greatest grief,
Thou, best of dearest and mine only care,
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest,
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,
Within the gentle closure of my breast,
From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part;
And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear,
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.


Comments about Sonnet Xlviii by William Shakespeare

  • Rookie - 59 Points Brian Jani (4/26/2014 3:27:00 PM)

    Awesome I like this poem, check mine out  (Report) Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: trust, grief, truth, fear, sonnet



Poem Submitted: Monday, May 21, 2001

Poem Edited: Monday, May 21, 2001


[Hata Bildir]