Sonnet 145: "Those lips that Love's own hand did make"

Those lips that Love's own hand did make

Breath'd forth the sound that said I hate

To me that languish'd for her sake:

But when she saw my woeful state,

Straight in her heart did mercy come.

Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet

Was used in giving gentle doom:

And taught it thus anew to greet:

'I hate' she alter'd with an end

That follow'd it as gentle day

Doth follow night, who like a fiend

From heaven to hell is flown away.

'I hate' from hate away she threw,

And sav'd my life, saying 'not you'

Believed to be Shakespeare oldest surviving poem.