Do Not Drop In For An After-loss. Ah, Do Not, When My Heart Hath 'scap'd This Sorrow, Come In The Rearward Of A Conquer'd Woe

My grief lies onward and my joy behind.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Sonnets & other Poetry -- Sonnet l...
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in everything.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Sonnets & other Poetry -- Sonnet xcviii...
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Sonnets & other Poetry -- Sonnet lxxxvii...
My nature is subdu'd To what it works in, like the dyer's hand.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Sonnets & other Poetry -- Sonnet cxi...
No, I am that I am, and they that level At my abuses reckon up their own.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Sonnets & other Poetry -- Sonnet cxxi...
That time of year thou may'st in me behold, When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,-- Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Sonnets & other Poetry -- Sonnet lxxiii...
The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Sonnets & other Poetry -- Sonnet lxx...
And art made tongue-tied by authority.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Sonnets & other Poetry -- Sonnet lxvi...
But thy eternal summer shall not fade.
-- William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Sonnets & other Poetry -- Sonnet xviii...