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<p style="color:#333333;font-weight:normal;font-size:16px;line-height:30px;font-family:Helvetica,Arial,sans-serif;hyphens:auto;text-align:justify;" data-flag="normal">SONNET 132<br>Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,<br>Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,<br>Have put on black and loving mourners be,<br>Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.<br>And truly not the morning sun of heaven<br>Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,<br>Nor that full star that ushers in the even,<br>Doth half that glory to the sober west,<br>As those two mourning eyes become thy face:<br>O, let it then as well beseem thy heart<br>To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace,<br>And suit thy pity like in every part.<br>Then will I swear beauty herself is black<br>And all they foul that thy complexion lack.<br><br></p>