Sonnet 147

Adapted from the William Shakespeare sonnet,
‘My Love Is A Fever, Longing Still’

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill
The uncertain sickly appetite to please

My reason, the physician to my love
Angry his prescriptions are not kept
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.

Past cure I am, now reason is past care
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Past cure I am, now reason is past care
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
Yes, I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.