Bill Bennett on Nostr: “She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud, Feed on ...

“She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.”
— Twelfth Night, Act 2, Scene 4