Unconditional Surrender Truman
Harry S Truman
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Posts: 14,139
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« on: September 18, 2017, 10:21:49 PM » |
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But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Warren is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief,
That thou, his maid, art far more fair than he.
Be not his maid since he is envious.
His spray-tann'd visage is but sick and orange,
And none but fools delight it. Cast it off!
It is my lady. Oh, it is my love.
Oh, that she knew she were!
She speaks, yet she says nothing. What of that?
Her eye discourses. I will answer it.—
I am too bold. 'Tis not to me she speaks.
Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
Having some business, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars
As daylight doth a lamp. Her eye in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.
Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand
That I might touch that cheek!
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