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10-24-2008, 02:10 AM
Sonnet #86
LXXXVI.br /br /Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,br /Bound for the prize of all too precious you,br /That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,br /Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?br /Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to writebr /Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?br /No, neither he, nor his compeers by nightbr /Giving him aid, my verse astonished.br /He, nor that affable familiar ghostbr /Which nightly gulls him with intelligencebr /As victors of my silence cannot boast;br /I was not sick of any fear from thence:br /But when your countenance fill'd up his line,br /Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.br /
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LXXXVI.br /br /Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,br /Bound for the prize of all too precious you,br /That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,br /Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?br /Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to writebr /Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?br /No, neither he, nor his compeers by nightbr /Giving him aid, my verse astonished.br /He, nor that affable familiar ghostbr /Which nightly gulls him with intelligencebr /As victors of my silence cannot boast;br /I was not sick of any fear from thence:br /But when your countenance fill'd up his line,br /Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.br /
More... (http://www.sonnetaday.com)