It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she... It is my lady, it is my love! O, that she knew she were!
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes 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! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do that dares love attempt...
It is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!
Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, EVERYONE!