Sonnet XLV, by
William Shakespeare
The other two, slight
air and purging
fire,
Are both with thee wherever I abide;
The first my
thought, the other my
desire,
These present-absent with swift motion slide;
For when these quicker
elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee,
My life, being made of
four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy,
Until life's composition be recured
By those swift messengers returned from thee,
Who even but now come back again assured
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me.
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
I send them back again and straight grow sad.
<-- index -->