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Laura Burns United States (7/15/2012 3:30:00 PM)

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It is not a sonnet, but the first lines in the play Twelfth Night:

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.

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  • isam Abdelrahman (7/21/2012 9:11:00 AM) Post reply Stage

    I first heard of this piece of poem, was in Arabic by a prominent Egypiian professor specialized in Shakespeare works but he wrongly said it was a sonnet ! I found difficulty finding them in the wrong place thank u Laura

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