Saturday, April 18, 2009

What lady’s that which doth enrich the hand
Of yonder knight?
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright.
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
As a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear—
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand.
And touching hers, make blessed by rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight.
For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.
Love's Fairy Wings

2:27 PM romeomontague221: What, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without apology?
With nimble soles, while I have a soul of lead
So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
And soar with them above a common bound.
To soar with light feathers, and so bound
I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe.
Under love's heavy burden do I sink.
Too great oppression for a tender thing.
Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like a thorn.
We waste our lights in vain, light lights by day.
But 'tis no wit to go.
Go To:
Montague, Romeo