Sonnet #97

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Sonnet #97

XCVII.br /br /How like a winter hath my absence beenbr /From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!br /What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!br /What old December's bareness every where!br /And yet this time removed was summer's time,br /The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,br /Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,br /Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:br /Yet this abundant issue seem'd to mebr /But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;br /For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,br /And, thou away, the very birds are mute;br /Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheerbr /That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

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[windblown]

I thought I might add the sonnet I wrote to my students here as it is based on Sonnet 97. I wrote it while they were taking a test on Shakespeare:

How like a route march has this Shakespeare been
For them, bright students of the final year!
What anguish have they felt, what hurdles seen!
What deserts, mountains, thickets everywhere!
And yet this poet's verse is like the spring,
So rich in marvels for the daring mind;
Brimming with flowers, their sweetness staggering;
Like dewdrops fresh. Such freshness could they find.
Yet that spring's sparkling clearness seems to some
But toil and trouble, muddy-watered bog;
For Shakespeare and his pleasures only come
To those that clear their hearts and minds from fog;
Or, if some mist abides, 'tis but a veil
That mystifies, but mars not beauty's trail.