Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation of quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument.
So all my best is dressing all words new,
Spending again what is already spent:
For as the sun is daily new old,
So is my love still telling what is told.
- William Shakespeare
(I was craving a little Shakespeare this evening, it's been too long.)
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