William Shakespeare

Sonnet 147: My love is as a fever, longing still

My love is as a fever, longing still

For that which longer nurseth the disease,

Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,

Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please.

My reason, the physician to my love,

Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, 

Hath left me, and I desperate now approve

Desire is death, which physic did except.

Past cure I am, now reason is past care, 

And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;

My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,

At random from the truth vainly expressed:

    For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,

    Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

John Hurt - My love is as a fever, longing still (Sonnet 147)

MI AMOR ES UNA FIEBRE INCESANTE 

Mi amor es una fiebre que incesante
ansía lo que su virus alimenta,
porque en mi mal mi gusto se apacienta
y es por sí enfermo el apetito amante.

Ya, viendo mi doctor (la vigilante
razón) que no haga dél caso ni cuenta,
me abandonó, y el ánima sedienta
corre a su abismo, aunque lo ve adelante.

Salvación para mí, ni la hay ni la quiero:
todo yo soy locura, inquietud, ira;
loco en cuanto imagino y vocifero,

y víctima infeliz de una mentira
te juré honrada y franca; y mi amor tierno
¿qué halló en ti? Noche oscura, negro infierno