The Poetry Corner

The Sonnets CXXIV - If my dear love were but the child of state

By William Shakespeare

If my dear love were but the child of state, It might for Fortunes bastard be unfatherd, As subject to Times love or to Times hate, Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gatherd. No, it was builded far from accident; It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls Under the blow of thralled discontent, Whereto th inviting time our fashion calls: It fears not policy, that heretic, Which works on leases of short-numberd hours, But all alone stands hugely politic, That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. To this I witness call the fools of time, Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.