Sonnet 93

So shall I live, supposing thou art true,

Like a deceivèd husband, so love’s face

May still seem love to me, though alter’d new,

Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place.

For there can live no hatred in thine eye,

Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.

In many’s looks the false heart’s history

Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange,

But heaven in thy creation did decree

That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;

Whate’er thy thoughts or thy heart’s workings be,

Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.

How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow,

If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show.

I’ll live as though I’m certain

Your loving is the truth,

And nothing behind the curtain

Contradicts my faith.

I cannot see hatred in your eyes.

Hopeless discovering deception there.

False hearts write ugly histories

In which your face cannot appear.

Creation’s made, in all its grace,

A space for love to dwell in beauty.

Evil cannot be perceived in your face,

Whatever your heart’s cruelty.

But like Eve’s apple your beauty will loom,

If goodness in it does not bloom.