THY bosom is endeared with all hearts <br />Which I, by lacking, have supposed dead: <br />And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts, <br />And all those friends which I thought buried. <br />How many a holy and obsequious tear <br />Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, <br />As interest of the dead!--which now appear <br />But things removed that hidden in thee lie. <br />Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, <br />Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, <br />Who all their parts of me to thee did give: <br />--That due of many now is thine alone: <br /> Their images I loved I view in thee, <br /> And thou, all they, hast all the all of me. <br /> <br />WHAT is your substance, whereof are you made, <br />That millions of strange shadows on you tend? <br />Since every one hath, every one, one shade, <br />And you, but one, can every shadow lend. <br />Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit <br />Is poorly imitated after you; <br />On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, <br />And you in Grecian tires are painted new: <br />Speak of the spring and foison of the year, <br />The one doth shadow of your beauty show, <br />The other as your bounty doth appear; <br />And you in every blessed shape we know. <br /> In all external grace you have some part, <br /> But you like none, none you, for constant heart.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnets-iv/
