William Shakespeare, Sonnet 107 (1609 diplomatic text)

107 Not mine owne feares, nor the prophetick soule, Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true loue controule, Supposde as forfeite to a confin’d doome. The mortall Moone hath her eclipse indur’de, And the sad Augurs mock their owne presage, Incertenties now crowne them-selues assur’de, And … Read more