Katherine Cornell, To
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day
When day's oppression is not eased by night
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay?
O, let me, true in love, but truly write
Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view—
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow—
While I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Then hate me if thou wilt; if ever, now
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace
And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will
And my sick Muse doth give another place.
This do I vow, and this shall ever be;
For who so dumb that cannot write of thee?
When day's oppression is not eased by night
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay?
O, let me, true in love, but truly write
Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view—
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow—
While I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Then hate me if thou wilt; if ever, now
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace
And I myself am mortgag'd to thy will
And my sick Muse doth give another place.
This do I vow, and this shall ever be;
For who so dumb that cannot write of thee?
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