I came across this in my reading today. starroute says it’s one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. I wanted to write it down somewhere to remind myself to read it again (and again, and again…) so I thought here might be a good place, and y’all can have a read too:
They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces
And husband nature’s riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
Peace to all my froggy friends.
