William Shakespeare
Warwickshire
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Sonnet Xcix

Rating: 5.0
The forward violet thus did I chide:
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair:
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;
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COMMENTS
* Sunprincess * 14 January 2016
............a most beautiful write with lovely imagery ?
0 0 Reply
Brian Jani 26 April 2014
Awesome I like this poem, check mine out 
0 0 Reply

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