Sonnets
Wetalk of taxes, and I call you friend;Well, such you are,—but well enough we knowHow thick about us root, how rankly growThose subtle weeds no man has need to tend,That flourish through neglect, and soon must sendPerfume too sweet upon us and overthrowOur steady senses; how such matters goWe are aware, and how such matters end.Yet shall be told no meagre passion here;With lovers such as we for evermoreIsolde drinks the draught, and GuinevereReceives the Table’s ruin through her door,Francesca, with the loud surf at her ear,Lets fall the coloured book upon the floor.
Wetalk of taxes, and I call you friend;Well, such you are,—but well enough we knowHow thick about us root, how rankly growThose subtle weeds no man has need to tend,That flourish through neglect, and soon must sendPerfume too sweet upon us and overthrowOur steady senses; how such matters goWe are aware, and how such matters end.Yet shall be told no meagre passion here;With lovers such as we for evermoreIsolde drinks the draught, and GuinevereReceives the Table’s ruin through her door,Francesca, with the loud surf at her ear,Lets fall the coloured book upon the floor.
Wetalk of taxes, and I call you friend;Well, such you are,—but well enough we knowHow thick about us root, how rankly growThose subtle weeds no man has need to tend,That flourish through neglect, and soon must sendPerfume too sweet upon us and overthrowOur steady senses; how such matters goWe are aware, and how such matters end.Yet shall be told no meagre passion here;With lovers such as we for evermoreIsolde drinks the draught, and GuinevereReceives the Table’s ruin through her door,Francesca, with the loud surf at her ear,Lets fall the coloured book upon the floor.