Sonnet XLVIII, by
William Shakespeare
How careful was I when I took my way
Each
trifle under truest bars to thrust,
That to my use it might unused stay
From hands of
falsehood, in sure wards of trust.
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,
Thou best of dearest and mine only care
Art left the prey of every vulgar
thief.
Thee have I not locked up in any chest
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art--
Within the gentle closure of my breast,
From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part;
And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear,
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.
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