Sonnet 70: A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air...

That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. So thou be good, slander doth but approve Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time: For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days, Either not assail'd or victor being charg'd; Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd: If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show, Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts should'st owe.

William Shakespeare

Sonnet 70: A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air... (15) (2015-08-26)

August 2015