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William Shakespeare, Sonnet lxxv

So are you to my thoughts, as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
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As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found:
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
Now counting best to be with you alone,
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Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure.
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
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Save what is had or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.