Ere winter’s sweetest place distils to night,
Posterity could speak ten thousand times,
Make not forbidden, those that willing fight;
Deface thy ragged killer for its crimes!
Should one refigure life, if not some loan,
Too much the sum in use: art thou contrite?
Depart with usury and pay to own,
And let thy summer’s beauty be thy right.
Another treasure then if make thine heir,
Not e’er time’s hand made e’er thy leaving known;
And treasure done thyself, or bred, were fair,
All happier of thee than thee outshone.
What vial of Death bewitching dreams prepare?
Self-conquest warms thee, vile Death to dare!
- David Emeron
To: myself
This sonnet is part of a short, or
possibly at some point, very long
sequence; click here to read it all:
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Oh, my!
Refuting death one sonnet at a time. I like it!
A wonderful treatment of Shakespeare’s words, Sweetheart. I like the way you used all of the original words. Quite an undertaking.
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And somehow….
I managed to use every word in Shakespeare’s sonnet VI while adding a few extras of my own. And a different message. Or as in the rest of this early section, a similar message and a different one as well.
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Re-crafting The Bard like a jig-saw displays dedication of Brobdingnagian standards. I commend you on this remarkable poem.
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I do not usually go this far on these (using every word) but rather have tried to include enough to create a sense of convergence between two divergent subjects. In this one, I did “go all the way.” I would very much like to do more of these–perhaps all of them–but I cannot now muster up the diligence to do so.
They do not take so very long to complete. Perhaps a good day’s work for one–particularly this one, heh.
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