SONNET 195 



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. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEABB. 



