[Pookie]

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expir’d:
For then my thoughts—from far where I abide—
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul’s imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself no quiet find.

[nomadicfollower]

A poem? By who? I like it.

[Pookie]

Originally Posted by nomadicfollower

A poem? By who? I like it.

It's that Shakespeare bloke. I love his sonnets.

[Hip Priest]

I've been reading some works about his sonnets lately; The Original Order od Shakespeare's Sonnets by Denys Bray (1925) and Shakespeare's Sonnets Dated by Leslie Hotson (1949). I'd recommend either if you can find them.

The latter was purchased last week, and came complete with some inserted newspaper clippings from the early 1970's. They relate to the sonnets too, and one is a lengthy transcript of a speech called That the Thought of Hearts Can Mend; an Introduction to Shakespeare's Sonnets for Psychotherapists and Others.

Shakespeare's Sonnets are, sadly, all too frequently overlooked by even lovers of his work. They are a beautiful body of work.

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say
'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!'
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider loved not speed, being made from thee:
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide;
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
For that same groan doth put this in my mind;
My grief lies onward and my joy behind.

[Pookie]

We stayed with relatives last weekend and forgot to take books to read Kitty at bedtime.

There was a book of Shakespeares sonnets which I decided to read instead, and she kept asking for more.

I'm not saying she's a child genius who understood them, but they sound so beautiful read aloud.

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: 'Thou single wilt prove none.'

[Neverstop]

lovely

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.