That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
How does, or did he make all the words fit together so beautifully, considering he had to stick to the form (sonnet's) iambic pentameter, and rhyme scheme on top of that!!!!
And Im not even starting on the meaning, emotions, comparisons, similies, metaphors, internal rhythm, blah blah blah..... The man ist mein gott!!
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Dear Polka,
Shakespeare, is in my opinion one of the more overrated (NOTE: not talentless) geniuses in history. However, this particular sonnet is a brilliant exception to the hide bound word jugglery that is the bard. I must confess ignorance of a detailed knowledge of his works. Please tell me though, where this is from, and i shall endeavour to reeducate myself.
Speaking of contacts, you at least have my dysfunctional email address and (God knows how) my phone number. I have zilch. At least send me a clue. I feel... slightly restricted about posting my email address up over here, so i shant. you can still try george_rohan@rediffmail.com , though, which i DO check but only once a week. i swaer. it works. it seems to have for all my other friends.
Are you a disembodied voice from the past, or some solitary ghoul blown over the coast on the spidery wisps of the web?
I'd go with the latter, since you know people i know.
UC?
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