“I could a tale unfold whose lightest wordWould harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres,Thy knotted and combined locks to part,And each particular hair to stand on endLike quills upon the fretful porpentine.But this eternal blazon must not beTo ears of flesh and blood.List, list, O list!”

“I'll lock thy heaven from thee. O, that men's ears should be To counsel deaf, but not to flattery!”

“O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beamsThat bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.”

“Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joyBe heaped like mine, and that thy skill be moreTo blazon it, then sweeten with thy breathThis neighbours air, and let rich music’s tongueUnfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter.”

“The fount of joy was bubbling in thine eyes,Dancing was in thy feet,And on thy lips a laugh that never dies,Unutterably sweet. Dance on! for ever young, for ever fair,Lightfooted as a frightened bounding deer,Thy wreath of vine-leaves twisted in thy hair,Through all the changing seasons of the year...”

“Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain,Have put on black and loving mourners be,Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.And truly not the morning sun of heaven Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,Nor that full star that ushers in the even,Doth half that glory to the sober west,As those two mourning eyes become thy face:O! let it then as well beseem thy heartTo mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace,And suit thy pity like in every part. Then will I swear beauty herself is black, And all they foul that thy complexion lack”