They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow;
They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces
And husband nature’s riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed out-braves his dignity;
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
– William Shakespeare
I’m not sure why I love this one so much; perhaps it is the English teacher in me. Or the solace that even in the 1500s people felt being beautiful was the answer, when in truth beautiful facades are just that, beautiful and nothing more.
Day 15 – Post a poem (written by someone else) that you love (for any reason).
For the challenge, click here.