Sonnet 97

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Sonnet 97 By William Shakespeare 1 How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December’s bareness every where! 5 And yet this time removed was summer’s time, The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, Like widow’d wombs after their lords’ decease: Yet this abundant issue seem’d to me 10 But hope of orphans and unfather’d fruit; For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And, thou away, the very birds are mute; Or, if they sing, ‘tis with so dull a cheer That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near. ™ © Advanced Assessment Systems/LinkIt! Duplication is restricted to licensees only.

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