My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
Sonnet Cxlvii
William Shakespeare
(1)
Poem topics: dark, death, night, truth, desire, bright, express, angry, black, fever, thought, preserve, reason, love, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation
<< Sonnet 55: Not Marble, Nor The Gilded Monuments Poem
Sonnet 20: A Woman's Face With Nature's Own Hand Painted Poem>>
Write your comment about Sonnet Cxlvii poem by William Shakespeare
Best Poems of William Shakespeare