Love Sonnet 130
Posted: 25 Jun 2019, 20:54
Love Sonnet 130
The sun has settled now below the waves,
To dim the land as shades of dusk are drawn,
My muse upon the daylight's spell still raves,
And craves the thrills that have, by now, been gone;
So were your smiles which sprightly beamed awhile,
And vanished like the day engulfed by night,
And to this loss my heart would often rile,
If not for hope that things would soon turn right;
But days are spent like leaves that fall from trees,
Or waters of the rivers or swift streams,
Or else, as passing fancy, fleeting, flees,
Like episodes of unremembered dreams;
...Yet days will come again, need not be mourned,
...Each breaking dawn will be with thrills adorned.
==================================================
Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
===============================================
(as inspired by the above sonnet of Shakespeare)
Love Sonnet 130-A
My love, caress me only with thine eyes,
And not with hands, so bare, where corn now grows,
Or call to me as of brisk wind that blows,
With thy damp breath which always brings the flies;
Now, pour some Cognac, filled to flowing be,
Or else, just kiss the brim of my wine cup
Before you toast, and fully drink it up,
Oft thou consumes the contents before me,
Then call me from afar with shrill cat calls,
To complement thy sharp and pointed claws,
Which highlight all thine other childish flaws,
That could explain, to some degree, thy falls;
...But mark to Heaven mine love's industry,
...That makes up for her lacking artistry.
The sun has settled now below the waves,
To dim the land as shades of dusk are drawn,
My muse upon the daylight's spell still raves,
And craves the thrills that have, by now, been gone;
So were your smiles which sprightly beamed awhile,
And vanished like the day engulfed by night,
And to this loss my heart would often rile,
If not for hope that things would soon turn right;
But days are spent like leaves that fall from trees,
Or waters of the rivers or swift streams,
Or else, as passing fancy, fleeting, flees,
Like episodes of unremembered dreams;
...Yet days will come again, need not be mourned,
...Each breaking dawn will be with thrills adorned.
==================================================
Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red, than her lips red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
===============================================
(as inspired by the above sonnet of Shakespeare)
Love Sonnet 130-A
My love, caress me only with thine eyes,
And not with hands, so bare, where corn now grows,
Or call to me as of brisk wind that blows,
With thy damp breath which always brings the flies;
Now, pour some Cognac, filled to flowing be,
Or else, just kiss the brim of my wine cup
Before you toast, and fully drink it up,
Oft thou consumes the contents before me,
Then call me from afar with shrill cat calls,
To complement thy sharp and pointed claws,
Which highlight all thine other childish flaws,
That could explain, to some degree, thy falls;
...But mark to Heaven mine love's industry,
...That makes up for her lacking artistry.
