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Marguerite
SONNET NO.
54
0, how much more doth
beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament
which truth doth give!
The rose
looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which
doth in it live.
The canker blooms have
full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture
of the roses.
Hang on such thorns and
play as wantonly,
When summer's breath their
masked buds discloses:
But for their virtue only
is their show
They live unwoo'd and
unrespected fade,
Die to themselves: sweet
roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are
sweetest odours made.
And so of you-beauteous
and lovely youth
When that shall fade, by
verse distils your truth.
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