Uncategorized

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

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s