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For the heck of it
W Shakespeare
Or else of thee
But from thine eyes
Not from the stars
Do I my judgment pluck
My knowledge I derive
And yet methinks
I have Astronomy
This I prognostica
te
And constant stars
But not to tell of
Good or evil luck
In them I read such art
Of plagues - of dearths
Or seasons' quality
Sonnet XIV
Thy end is truth's and
As truth and beauty
Nor can I fortune
To brief minutes tell
Shall together thrive
Pointing to each
His thunder - rain and wind
Beauty's doom and date
If from thyself
Or say with princes
If it shall go well
To store thou wouldst convert
By oft predict
That I in heaven find