William Shakespeare. 1564–1616

Sonnet CXLV.

“Those lips that Love’s own hand did make”

THOSE lips that Love’s own hand did make  
Breath’d forth the sound that said ‘I hate,’  
To me that languish’d for her sake:  
But when she saw my woeful state,  
Straight in her heart did mercy come,    5
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet  
Was us’d in giving gentle doom;  
And taught it thus anew to greet;  
‘I hate,’ she alter’d with an end,  
That follow’d it as gentle day   10
Doth follow night, who like a fiend  
From heaven to hell is flown away.  
  ‘I hate’ from hate away she threw,  
  And sav’d my life, saying—‘Not you.’