My love is as a fever, longing still <br />For that which longer nurseth the disease, <br />Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, <br />Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please. <br />My reason, the physician to my love, <br />Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, <br />Hath left me, and I desperate now approve <br />Desire is death, which physic did except. <br />Past cure I am, now reason is past care, <br />And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; <br />My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are, <br />At random from the truth vainly expressed. <br /> For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, <br /> Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-147-my-love-is-as-a-fever-longing-still/
