Sonnet One hundred and twenty-eight by William Shakespeare
daneallred

Sonnet One hundred and twenty-eight by William Shakespeare

2012-02-09
literatureoutloud.com     Click here for a complete INDEX   Sonnet CXXVIII by William Shakespeare   How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
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