A Poem From Twelfth Night

O mistress mine, where are you roaming?

O, stay and hear; your true love’s coming,

   That can sing both high and low:

Trip no further, pretty sweeting;

Journeys end in lovers meeting,

       Every wise man’s son doth know.

 What is love?  ’tis not hereafter;

Present mirth hath present laughter;

   What’s to come is still unsure:

In delay, there lies no plenty;

The come kiss me, sweet and twenty,

   Youth’s stuff will not endure.

 -William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night


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