Category Archives: Shakespeare Moment

Monday’s Shakespeare Moment

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Sonnt 2 ~ William Shakespeare

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a totter’d weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, 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 deserv’d 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.

I don’t post these often enough, but I do find Shakespeare inspiring. There is just something about his lyrical prose that speaks to me. Hope you enjoy.

Off to a Poor Start~

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So I mentioned in my last post how I signed on to do this 28 posts in 28 days? Hehe… off to a real good start since this is day two and my first post. In all fairness to myself though, I was sans internet for the majority of the day yesterday while at my sister’s house and up to my elbows in edits. 

Alas, I vow to move forward. This is the nature of writing and life in general. Without further adieu, I give you my Monday Shakespeare Moment. I have a love affair with some of his works. Not acquainted with all of them, but some of my favorites are Romeo and Juliet, Midsummer’s Night Dream, and the Sonnets. Right now, I am feeling a sonnet, so without further adieu, I give you my Monday Shakespeare Moment. Enjoy!

Sonnet 1

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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:
But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,Thy self 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, mak’st waste in niggarding:Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.

Shakespeare, 1609