Shall I compare thee to a Shakespearian play?
You are more miraculous and less tragic,
a coarse man plucked your darling bud recklessly,
and drama's lease hath three short acts of magic.
Sometimes too mean the fate of heaven strikes,
And for such madness your countenance, dimmed;
yet from the dark chambers arise your psyche,
Not some pedestrian player but spirit determined
For thy eternal beauty remains unscathed,
here lascivious acts of villainous boys end,
you brag a heroine’s power as never played,
your truth will endure for real and not pretend.
So long as you shall breathe, and eyes can see,
So long lives drama’s beauty and angels live in thee.
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