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The Blossom

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  • The Blossom

    The Blossom
    by William Shakespeare



    ON a day--alack the day!--
    Love, whose month is ever May,
    Spied a blossom passing fair
    Playing in the wanton air:
    Through the velvet leaves the wind
    All unseen 'gan passage find;
    That the lover, sick to death,
    Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
    Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
    Air, would I might triumph so!
    But, alack, my hand is sworn
    Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
    Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;
    Youth so apt to pluck a sweet!
    Do not call it sin in me
    That I am forsworn for thee;
    Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear
    Juno but an Ethiop were;
    And deny himself for Jove,
    Turning mortal for thy love.
    اللھم صلی علٰی محمد وعلٰی آل محمد کما صلیت علٰی ابراھیم وعلٰی آل ابراھیم انک حمید مجید۔
    اللھم بارک علٰی محمد وعلٰی آل محمد کما بارکت علٰی ابراھیم وعلٰی آل ابراھیم انک حمید مجید۔

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