Sonnet 48

How careful was I, when I took my way,

Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,

That to my use it might unusèd stay

From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust.

But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,

Most worthy of 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 lock’d 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.

How careful I was to secure everything

Before I journeyed away.

I made sure all, even the smallest thing,

Would be safe and out of harm’s way.

But compared to you, all my jewels

Dim: nothing so sacred as you.

And I feel like the worst of fools,

Having no way from thieves to protect you.

I could not lock you up in any chest

Except in the one where you always are—

My heart inside, the only place I trust

In a world of far too much danger.

And even there, you’ll be hurt, I fear—

When my heart turns possessive, holding something so dear.