We’re
honoring Will Shakespeare today—since it’s presumed that this was his birthday
in 1564. (We don’t know for certain, but he was baptized on the 26th,
and as he died on 23 April 1616, why not just split the difference and call it
a thing?)
I have
to say that Will spends right much time in his sonnets talking about the ravages
of age; after a while a body can get a little tired of it. So I’ve chosen “Sonnet
XXV”, which takes a different approach to life. The toffs, he says, may have the
blessings of fortune (both luck and riches), but what they hold is more mutable than the wealth of love.
“Sonnet
XXV”
Let
those who are in favour with their stars
Of
public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst
I, whom fortune of such triumph bars
Unlook'd
for joy in that I honour most.
Great
princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
But as
the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in
themselves their pride lies buried,
For at
a frown they in their glory die.
The
painful warrior famoused for fight,
After
a thousand victories once foiled,
Is
from the book of honour razed quite,
And
all the rest forgot for which he toiled:
Then
happy I, that love and am beloved,
Where
I may not remove nor be removed.
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