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Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name. So that eternal love in love’s fresh case Weighs not the dust and injury of age, Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, But makes antiquity for aye his page; Finding the first conceit of love there bred, Where time and outward form would show it dead.
For term of life thou art assured mine; And life no longer than thy love will stay, For it depends upon that love of thine. Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, When in the least of them my life hath end. I see a better state to me belongs Than that which on thy humour doth depend: Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Thine for ever may we be Here and in eternity. 2 Thine for ever! Lord of life, Shield us through our earthly strife; Thou, the Life, the Truth, the Way, Guide us to the realms of day. 3 Thine for ever! O how blest They who find in Thee their rest! Saviour, Guardian, heavenly Friend, O defend us to the end. 4 Thine for ever!
Like a deceived husband; so love’s face May still seem love to me, though alter’d new; Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place: For there can live no hatred in thine eye, Therefore in that I cannot know thy change. In many’s looks the false heart’s history Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange, But heaven in thy creation ...
The message is reiterated in the last lines of the poem: "But if thou live, remember'd not to be, / Die single, and thine image dies with thee." Not only will the youth die, but so will his image — the one in his mirror, and also his image that may be seen borne by his yet-to-be child. [2]
“I love you, and I will love you until I die, and if there’s a life after that, I’ll love you then.” — Cassandra Clare “To love is easy, to be in a relationship is extremely difficult ...
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, Call’d to that audit by advis’d respects; Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, When love, converted from the thing it was, Shall reasons find of settled gravity; Against that time do I ensconce me here Within the knowledge of mine own desert,
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: O, but with mine compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving; Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine, That have profan’d their scarlet ornaments And seal’d false bonds of love as oft as mine,