Sonnet IX: My Sweet Savant

But rest thy racing mind, my sweet savant,
And know thine intellect may bring thee through
Thy fear and doubt, as any other want.
I would thou should but give this truth its due

Though oft wouldst thou believe this help untrue,
My dearest, my most charming, doubtful boy;
So long the list of thy solutions, drew
My mind, as easy thou wouldst reach for joy

And find it waits for thee. No other ploy
Couldst thou detect in me; for, as I were
Thy future, thou wouldst not my past destroy.
Take this I would thee know, and let it stir
Thy mind until occureth free of daunt;
And, if thou wouldst prefer: thy quickness flaunt!

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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Intro 9: What Begins

So close to the end,
So close to the beginning,
What begins this end?

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Sonnet VIII: Borrowed Foresight

And thou when in that selfsame mirror see.
Wouldst thou when there beholdest mee be pleased?
Thy fear of future or of past; would be
Thy curiosity of all appeased?

And wouldst thou see a life thou hoped to live?
Wouldst thou with eager pride regard thou mee?
And wouldst thou mine and thy mistakes forgive?
Wouldst thou behind me happiness foresee?

And if thou knew as intimate, my life,
Wouldst thou for greater happiness contrive?
And shouldst thou know how great had been my strife,
Wouldst thou with passion greater, passion strive?

Wouldst in this knowledge thou thy fortunes thrive?
Wouldst thou with borrowed foresight come alive?

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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Sonnet VII: Reflected

When I, within the mirror, thee regard;
But not of thine, which shone in silvered glass;
Nay, this, that all the many years discard;
As though no year might ever for thee pass.

So fair, thy sherry coloured hair and eyes;
Thy perfect form I see, as straight and hard;
Thy smile, seeming beautiful and wise;
And strong thy limbs, by time are nary scared.

If thou couldst know what wonders thee await;
More wondrous than most any thou surmise;
If thou couldst only see thy pain abate;
And know how much of life this pain denies.

How few thy years; alas, how little wait;
My life surpast, when thou such things instate.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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Sonnet VI: If Only Knewest Thou

If thou aboundest not with glory, seek
Thou ever this; for if thy world is rife
With glory’s joy, shalt thou abound to speak;
And shalt abound with glory in thy life.

So joyous wouldst thou ever, if thy place
Should, once, thy glory sing; although oblique,
And ne’er regard thy lack of fame, disgrace,
As such; though  fame and glory are unique.

Devoid of one another, both exist.
Though righteous one, the former may debase,
Impossible, unbidden, to resist.
So seek must thou this blessing, to embrace

That strife will fail to find thee in its midst–
The knife that in thy glory, yearns to twist.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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