The forward violet thus did I chide...
Sonnet 99The 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; But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth A vengeful canker eat him up to death. More flowers I noted, yet I none could see But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee. |
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I was cross with a violet the other day because I reckoned it had nicked its sweet smell from your breath, and the purple of its face from your veins. I told the lily off for stealing the its whiteness from your hand and marjoram buds for flitching their yellow from your hair. Two thorny roses had taken one your red shame, the other your white despair; and a third (which was neither red nor white) had stolen a bit of both and also a bit of your breath. He had been punished for his theft, though, by a canker which had eaten him up from the inside out. There were loads more flowers, but every one of them had stolen a colour or an odour from you.