1593-1603 by Shakespeare 
Sonnet 99 

1	The forward violet thus did I chide:
2	Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
3	If not from my love’s breath? The purple pride
4	Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
5	In my love’s veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
6	The lily I condemnèd for thy hand,
7	And buds of marjoram had stol’n thy hair#
8	The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
9	One blushing shame, another white despair#
10	A third, nor red nor white, had stol’n of both,
11	And to his robb’ry had annexed thy breath#
12	But for his theft in pride of all his growth
13	A vengeful canker ate him up to death.
14	More flowers I noted, yet I none could see
15	But sweet or colour it had stol’n from thee.