Sonnet LXXXIV
While one sere leaf, that parting Autumn yields,
Trembles upon the thin, and naked spray,
November, dragging on this sunless day, . . .
While one sere leaf, that parting Autumn yields,
Trembles upon the thin, and naked spray,
November, dragging on this sunless day, . . .
On the fleet streams, the Sun, that late arose,
In amber radiance plays; the tall young grass
No foot hath bruised; clear morning, as I pass, . . .
When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
. . .
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, . . .
Methought I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave,
Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave,
. . .
When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
. . .
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight . . .
The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves,
The brilliant moon and all the milky sky,
And all that famous harmony of leaves, . . .
The sorrow of true love is a great sorrow
And true love parting blackens a bright morrow:
Yet almost they equal joys, since their despair . . .
“A equals X,” says Mister One.
“A equals B,” says Mister Two.
“A equals nothing under the sun . . .