No more be grieved at that which thou hast done: Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are; For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense -- Thy adverse party is thy advocate -- And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence: Such civil war is in my love and hate That I an accessary needs must be To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMN TO FIRE by KONSTANTIN DMITRIYEVICH BALMONT PARODY OF A SHROPSHIRE LAD by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM LINES TO GRIEF by ANN ELIZA BLEECKER IRELAND'S VENGEANCE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ONCE ON A TIME by BERTON BRALEY |