onsdag 23 april 2014

William Shakespeare - My love is a fever

The Sonnets. 147.

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve,
Desire his death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen´s are,
At random from the truth vainly expresse´d:
      For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
      Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

2 kommentarer:

  1. Å. Så vackert. Själv tänkte jag igår på den där som citeras i Sense and Sensibility, marriage of true minds.

    Först efteråt kom jag på vilken dag det var.

  2. Den hade jag inte i minnet. Men fin.

    Är det du som är HappyHelga eller en annan H?