Sonnet 54

O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour, which doth in it live
The canker blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses
But, for their virtue only is their show
They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth
When that shall vade, my verse distills your truth



Credits
Writer(s): The Shakespeare Heptet
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