Sonnet 145*

William_shakespeare
William Shakespeare

* Of Shakespeare’s 154 sonnets, only three departed from the 14-line, iambic pentameter format.  This sonnet, written in iambic tetrameter, is one of three such sonnets.

Those lips that Love’s own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said ‘I hate,’
To me that languish’d for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,

Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:

‘I hate’ she alter’d with an end,
That follow’d it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away;

‘I hate’ from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying — ‘not you.’

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