Shakespeare Sonnet 48

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Back 1

How careful was I when I took my way,

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Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,

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That to my use it might unused stay

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From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!

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But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,

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Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,

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Thou best of dearest and mine only care,

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Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.

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Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest,

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Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,

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Within the gentle closure of my breast,

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From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part;

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And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear

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For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.