Methinks I lied all winter, when I sworeMy love was infinite, if spring makes it more.

Dull sublunary lovers love

Love, built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

If ever any beauty I did see,Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

That our affections kill us not, nor dye.

Twice or thrice had I lov'd thee, Before I knew thy face or name

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,Nor any place be empty quite;Therefore I think my breast hath allThose pieces still, though they be not unite;And now, as broken glasses showA hundred lesser faces, soMy rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,But after one such love, can love no more.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest; Where can we find two better hemispheres, Without sharp north, without declining west? Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally; If our two loves be one, or, thou and I Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.