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Sonnet - I
To eat the world's due
Within thine own bud
But thou contracted to
thine own bright eyes
buriest thy content
Feed'st thy light's flame with
self-substa
ntial fuel
by the grave - and thee
And tender churl
Making a famine where
abundance lies
mak'st waste in niggarding
Thyself thy foe
to thy sweet self too cruel
