Sonnet Lxxxiii:

I, like thy shadow, am a part of thee. In vain thou fliest: the level desert plain-- The ragged peak, in whose deep scars remain The snows of primal winter--the waste sea-- The peopled city or the wooded lea In whate'er clime, or under sun or rain-- Thou find'st no shelter from the fatal stain My presence casts wherever thou may'st be. If pitying fortune to thy sadness bring Some outward light, some ray of hopeful cheer, The brightness will but make my shade more clear Lengthen and deepen the detested thing; Yea, where all shadows meet, where all is drear, O'er death itself, a gloomier darkness fling.