Shakespearean Sonnet #1
As I mentioned in today’s earlier post, I’ve been reading a lot lately, more than usual. I’m currently into The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Barnes & Noble Press, 1994), and I truthfully didn’t study the man much at all in high school or college. So, naturally, this 1263-page tome of his life’s work jumps out at me a few years ago and I throw it on the shelf after a failed attempt at giving it as a gift. Now’s the perfect time to get into this.
The guy wrote sonnets. Freaking sonnets. Who really writes these anymore? The answer is hopefully more than I realize. I’ll be posting the sonnets here at AndrewStories.com because I find them purely wonderful. To be clear, these are Shakespearean sonnets, and not my original work, as is the usual here on this site. I claim no authorship, except for the paltry notes surrounding the actual sonnets.
We pick up on page 1225 where the first six sonnets are, and then all 154 of them get printed by page 1244. Great stuff. Please enjoy as I just have.
From fairest creatures we dare increase,
That thereby beauty’s Rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decrease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted by thine own bright eyes,
Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel,
Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggardling.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.
Joy’s where you find it. How great it this first sonnet? More later. Thanks for visiting.