Shakespeare Sonnet Generator

Sonnet #155

by William Shakespeare
I hold thee but by can write! Look in his growth A vengeful.
Love! with false plague are but not leave her to trust, Enjoy'd no quiet.
I toil, still farther off this alone, that time, not beauty lived alone, Which.
I loved I view in can nothing that before have seen dwellers on truth Askance.
I thought buried. How many a what is the treasure of thee releasing; My.
Sweet roses fearfully on me welcome, next my brow; But out, alack.
Will' One will fulfil the death-bed whereon it is took, And.
I credit her false speaking aught in love remember'd not.
Gainst thyself thou stick'st not I lost; thou be contented: when.
I throw all care Of others' apple doth beauty can yield.
I am, and they that for my face with the world and my.
Tis true,' And to keep Came tripping by; but now thou art of hot.
I am, now reason is fairest creatures we see thy sensual fault.
Tis flattery in my seeing, And my sake; So him from youth to his On.
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