My love swears that he is made of truth
My love swears that he is made of truth
I do believe him, though I know he lies,
That he might think me some untutored youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.

Thus vainly thinking that he thinks me young,

Although he knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit him false-speaking tongue;
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed.
But wherefore says he not he is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I lie with him, and he with me,
And in our faults by lies we flattered be.

-JANKI.V