As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly When summer's breath their masked buds discloses; But, for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade, Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;...
The works of William Shakespeare, the text formed from an entirely new ... - Pagina 500
door William Shakespeare - 1843
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