William Shakespeare. Sonnet CXLV
Those lips that Love's own hand did make,
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate',
To me that languisht for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used 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
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away;
'I hate', from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying — 'Not you.'
