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XCIII.
So
shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a
deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem love
to me, though alter'd new;
Thy looks with me, thy
heart in other place:
For there can live no hatred in
thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy
change.
In many's looks the false heart's history
Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange,
But
heaven in thy creation did decree
That in thy face
sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts
or thy heart's workings be,
Thy looks should nothing
thence but sweetness tell.
How like Eve's apple doth
thy beauty grow,
if thy sweet virtue answer not thy
show!
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