Sonnet 147 (Sonnet CXLVII) by William Shakespeare

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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 expressed;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

That concludes Sonnet 147 (Sonnet CXLVII) by William Shakespeare. Did you enjoy William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 147 (Sonnet CXLVII)? Then, rate it below. And don’t forget to like, tweet or share William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 147 (Sonnet CXLVII) by using the Facebook and Twitter buttons below.

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