by William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)

My love is as a fever, longing still
Language: English 
Available translation(s): ITA
My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
  For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
  Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

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Researcher for this text: Barbara Miller

This text was added to the website: 2005-08-31
Line count: 14
Word count: 107