Wednesday, January 26, 2011
The poem My love is as a fever by William Shakespeare Sonnet 147
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th' 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 mad men'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.
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th' 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 mad men'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.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
ANNE MURRAY JUST ANOTHER WOMAN IN LOVE
So pardon me if I should stare
and tremble like a child
That "wanting you" look all over your face
is driving me wild
I'm just what you make me
can't wait 'till you take me
and set all my feelin's free
and tremble like a child
That "wanting you" look all over your face
is driving me wild
I'm just what you make me
can't wait 'till you take me
and set all my feelin's free
Friday, January 14, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
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