How careful was I, when I took my
way,
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,
That to my use it might unused stay
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards
of trust!
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
Most worthy of comfort, now my greatest
grief,
Thou, best of dearest and mine only
care,
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest,
Save where thou art not, though I feel
thou art,
Within the gentle closure of my breast,
From whence at pleasure thou mayst come
and part;
And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I
fear,
For truth proves thievish for a prize
so dear.
View all
Shakespeare's Sonnets:
