Shakespeare's 444th Birthday today!!
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Angeline
Poet Chick
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Happy birthday old bard!
My favorite sonnet:
William Shakespeare - Sonnet #138
When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
My favorite sonnet:
William Shakespeare - Sonnet #138
When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
unpredictablebijou
Peril!
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Happy Birthday, Wild Bill!
I went off to find a couple of sonnets that I especially love and have spent nearly an hour now wandering through them, lost in the language. Shakespeare and Chaucer will always be my first and most powerful loves, geek that I am.
*sigh* I don't know why I bother to write at all. He already covered pretty much everything I've ever wanted to say, and so much more powerfully than I ever could.
But eh bien. Here are two of my personal favorites:
XX
A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all 'hues' in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
CXXXV
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,'
And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus;
More than enough am I that vex'd thee still,
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?
Shall will in others seem right gracious,
And in my will no fair acceptance shine?
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still,
And in abundance addeth to his store;
So thou, being rich in 'Will,' add to thy 'Will'
One will of mine, to make thy large will more.
Let no unkind 'No' fair beseechers kill;
Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'
I went off to find a couple of sonnets that I especially love and have spent nearly an hour now wandering through them, lost in the language. Shakespeare and Chaucer will always be my first and most powerful loves, geek that I am.
*sigh* I don't know why I bother to write at all. He already covered pretty much everything I've ever wanted to say, and so much more powerfully than I ever could.
But eh bien. Here are two of my personal favorites:
XX
A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all 'hues' in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.
CXXXV
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,'
And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus;
More than enough am I that vex'd thee still,
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?
Shall will in others seem right gracious,
And in my will no fair acceptance shine?
The sea, all water, yet receives rain still,
And in abundance addeth to his store;
So thou, being rich in 'Will,' add to thy 'Will'
One will of mine, to make thy large will more.
Let no unkind 'No' fair beseechers kill;
Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'
Eluard
Literotica Guru
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- 994
This is my very favorite sonnet. The pain in this one is real and unmistakable. It is the answer to all those who think that the sonnets are some sort of internal game that Shakespeare was playing with himself. The twists and turns that these latter sonnets take with deception and self-deception are a study in psychology that far surpass most novelists. Just extraordinarily brilliant!
My love is as a fever longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th' uncertain sicklie appetite to please:
My reason the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest,
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed.
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
. . .
My love is as a fever longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th' uncertain sicklie appetite to please:
My reason the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest,
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed.
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
. . .
bisexualsmoker
Literotica Guru
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Enemies of peace
I really should read more of him.
Many happy returns Bill.You deserve it where so many don't.
I really should read more of him.
Many happy returns Bill.You deserve it where so many don't.
Tzara
Continental
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Which, coincidentally, is the Story of My (Married) Life.Cool.
Out of sheer coincidence, yesterday I signed on as director for a local sidestage ensemble. Directing what? Much Ado About Nothing.
Directorial note: Benedick always loses the exchange with Beatrice. Always. One hopes that Dante fared better.
RunningJib
Literotica Guru
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Much to about Nothing
What is three inches!
What is three inches!
Tzara
Continental
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- Aug 2, 2005
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- 7,761
My favorite Shakespearean sonnet:
116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom.
...If this be error and upon me proved,
...I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom.
...If this be error and upon me proved,
...I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Anschul
Literotica Guru
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- 875
And mine:
Two, taken together, as a continuous thought:
46
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar,
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie,
A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title is impannelled
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart;
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part:
As thus: mine eye's due is thine outward part,
And my heart's right, thine inward love of heart.
47
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other:
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look,
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,
And to the painted banquet bids my heart;
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest,
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part:
So, either by thy picture or my love,
Thy self away, art present still with me;
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,
And I am still with them, and they with thee;
Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
Awakes my heart, to heart's and eyes' delight.
And I would not be Anschul if I didn't produce a sonnet (my eighth) on Shakespeare's birthday.
Lust
In darkest, deepest corners of the mind,
There live the memories that love imprints,
Tattooed in places only time can find,
Guarded by defenses. Only hints
At where the keys reside, how to unlock
The doors behind which precious rest is found
Can be deciphered. Will it take a shock?
A jarring moment? Flashing sights rewound
By newfound passion? What this moment brings:
A momentary purging of the soul,
A frightening new ability. He sings
A painful song, but pain unchains the whole.
It cannot change the past, but love can light
A momentary flame that lasts one night.
Two, taken together, as a continuous thought:
46
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar,
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie,
A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes,
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title is impannelled
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart;
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part:
As thus: mine eye's due is thine outward part,
And my heart's right, thine inward love of heart.
47
Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other:
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look,
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast,
And to the painted banquet bids my heart;
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest,
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part:
So, either by thy picture or my love,
Thy self away, art present still with me;
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,
And I am still with them, and they with thee;
Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
Awakes my heart, to heart's and eyes' delight.
And I would not be Anschul if I didn't produce a sonnet (my eighth) on Shakespeare's birthday.
Lust
In darkest, deepest corners of the mind,
There live the memories that love imprints,
Tattooed in places only time can find,
Guarded by defenses. Only hints
At where the keys reside, how to unlock
The doors behind which precious rest is found
Can be deciphered. Will it take a shock?
A jarring moment? Flashing sights rewound
By newfound passion? What this moment brings:
A momentary purging of the soul,
A frightening new ability. He sings
A painful song, but pain unchains the whole.
It cannot change the past, but love can light
A momentary flame that lasts one night.
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Eluard
Literotica Guru
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- Mar 28, 2007
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Anschul, this is a superb sonnet! Incredibly well done.
Anschul
Literotica Guru
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- Feb 14, 2008
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Thank you kindly. I am honored when I receive a compliment from the writers here whom I admire. You are one. I appreciate the praise. Keeps me writing.
I have long been moved by the sonnets of Shakespeare. I like them much more than the plays (except Two Gentlemen of Verona--my personal favorite). It is the reason I try to write the Shakespearean sonnet form (I've been writing them for thirty years--wrote one as part of my wedding vows). Because I am a technical writer by trade, I find an extraordinary challenge in saying something vital within the structure of the sonnet. I think my sonnets are better than my free verse work. Others here have disagreed, but I just love the challenge of the structure.
Thanks again.
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