Sonnet XLIII

Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers

Plucked in the garden, all the summer through

And winter, and it seemed as if they grew

In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.

So, in the like name of that love of ours,

Take back these thoughts, which here unfolded too,

And which on warm and cold days I withdrew

From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers

Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,

And wait thy weeding: yet here's eglantine,

Here's ivy!—take them, as I used to do

Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine;

Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true,

And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine.