Shakespeare's Sonnets: The forward violet thus did I chide

The forward violet thus did I chide,Sweet thief, whence did'st thou steal thy sweet that smellsIf not from my love's breath? The purple prideWhich on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells?In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed,The lily I condemnèd for thy hand,And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair,The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,Our blushing shame, an other white despair:A third nor red, nor white, had stol'n of both,And to his robb'ry had annex't thy breath,But for his theft in pride of all his growthA vengeful canker ate him up to death. More flow'rs I noted, yet I none could see, But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.