Monday, February 17, 2014

So quick bright things come into confusion 

Ay me! For aught that I could ever read, 
Could ever hear by tale or history, 
The course of true love never did run smooth. 
But either it was different in blood---

O cross! Too high to be enthralled to low. 

Or else misgraffed in respect of years---

O spite! Too old to be engaged to young. 

Or else it stood upon the choice of friends--

O hell, to choose love by another's eyes!

Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, 
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it, 
Making it momentary as a sound, 
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream, 
Brief as the lightning in the collied night; 
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and Earth, 
And ere a man hath power to say "Behold!"
The jaws of darkness do devour it up 
So quick bright things come to confusion. 

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