The Sonnets, by William Shakespeare


132: Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me

  Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me,
  Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain,
  Have put on black, and loving mourners be,
  Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
  And truly not the morning sun of heaven 
  Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,
  Nor that full star that ushers in the even 
  Doth half that glory to the sober west 
  As those two mourning eyes become thy face:
  O let it then as well beseem thy heart 
  To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace,
  And suit thy pity like in every part.
    Then will I swear beauty herself is black,
    And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

Back to index