Sonnet 87

Farewell, thou art too dear for my possessing,

And like enough thou know’st thy estimate:

The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;

My bonds in thee are all determinate.

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?

And for that riches where is my deserving?

The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,

And so my patent back again is swerving.

Thyself thou gav’st, thy own worth then not knowing,

Or me, to whom thou gav’st it, else mistaking;

So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,

Comes home again, on better judgment making.

Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter:

In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

You’re worth too much

For my possessing,

Your value such,

It takes no guessing.

What could I hold

Without your giving?

What could be sold

To earn your loving?

At first, you didn’t know—

Nor did I—what I had.

But now it’s time for you to go,

Seeing as we misread.

That’s how I’ve had you, like a man dreams he’s king,

But wakes up and wanders away with nothing.