Tag Archives: William Shakespeare

Sonnet II: (William Shakespeare)

Posted by David Emeron on

When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter’d weed, of small worth held:

Then being ask’d where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.

How much more praise deserved thy beauty’s use,
If thou couldst answer ‘This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,’
Proving his beauty by succession thine!

This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.

Intro 1: William Shakespeare, Sonnet I

Posted by David Emeron on

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
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Sonnet IV: Her Dance

Posted by David Emeron on

Curious, the rain whence cometh down,
She falleth soft in overwhelming drops;
In peace, her quietly pervading sound
Transformeth sun and moon–so uninvited.

Strange, that once her drops, when they invade,
As former they, her forest’s ardour stops;
Though cities in the stead of trees pervade
And held as quiet sway–so unexcited.

Pleasing, how again she doth return
Such streets and buildings, parking lots and shops;
To older days  for which they seem to yearn,
So mixt with all her fallen tears–united.

Older she than land they wrest; her crops,
If brick or straw are we–and unrequited.

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

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Intro 4: Once More?

Posted by David Emeron on

Back, perhaps by popular demand,
Once again, shall my pen turn rainward,
To wash away one desire;

To cleanse its paper palette,
Making way for others quite the opposite,
Although every bit as lovely.

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Sonnet: Blessings of God’s Anointed

Posted by David Emeron on

Gaze upon me, O Lovely, and beware,
Or as thy frosts unfairly come, rejoice.
Fair-play with fortune will confound Despair
That, hideous with pride, hath shown its voice.

For never-resting, God’s anointed here
Excel: to verse thy numbered days, to bear
This work, to lend thee summer; and to year
Thy days, and keep thee and thy children fair.

In all our seasons, prisoners are we–
As checked, and sapped, and pent, as tyrants fear
All eyes the beauty we distil may see–
Who gift these days to winter they who sneer:

Though thieving Time all substance yet destroys,
We left thee more than wretched Time enjoys.

The final draft of this sonnet became part
of a short, or possibly at some point, very long
sequence; click here to read it all:

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Sonnet III: Tears and Tears

Posted by David Emeron on

At times, I cry… when remember I…
Such moments long ago, alone with thee,
When wouldst thou sing–weep, remembering–
Such times as when at first thou sang’st to mee.

And sweet thy song… delicate but strong…
That calmed such tears, as sweet thy notes would sing;
So quiet true–calming these anew–
Such tears as next to mee thy song might bring.

Thou knew’st not why… often would I cry…
Though lovingly wouldst soothe thou mee to sleep.
For when of thee–sadly did foresee–
Such lonely secrets once I sought to keep.

So cry to thee… fearing quietly…
That ripped I’d be, from thee away, and weep.

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

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