Shakespeare in April

We haven't posted a good poem for awhile, and I like to read poetry in the spring:

Sonnet 98, by William Shakespeare

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him,

Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew.

Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermillion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.

Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

Another Poem for Valentine's Day

By happy coincidence, the greatest English playwright is also the greatest English poet. Here is Sonnet 73 from Shakespeare's collection of sonnets. It's an excellent poem for middle-aged husbands feeling sorry for themselves in the middle of winter. (Note: The phrase "bare ruined choirs" refers to choir lofts. Shakespeare is saying that he is like a tree in winter, and that trees in winter are like ruined choir-lofts -- which used to be full of singing birds, but which are now empty and forlorn.):

Sonnet 73, by William Shakespeare

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

A Spenserian Sonnet

Here is a sonnet by Edmund Spenser, which was first published in 1595. It is part of a cycle of sonnets called Amoretti, which tells the story of the poet's courtship of a very headstrong woman. This is Number 6 in the cycle (which totals 89). The poet is trying to cheer himself up in the face of his failure (thus far) to win his love. He argues to himself that the very difficulty he has in winning her proves her worthiness. I have kept Spenser's old-fashioned spelling:

Amoretti: Sonnet 6

Be nought dismayd that her unmoved mind,
Doth still persist in her rebellious pride:
Such love not lyke to lusts of baser kynd,
The harder wonne, the firmer will abide.

The durefull Oake, whose sap is not yet dride,
Is long ere it conceive the kindling fyre:
But when it once doth burne, it doth divide
Great heat, and makes his flames to heaven aspire.

So hard it is to kindle new desire,
In gentle brest that shall endure for ever:
Deepe is the wound, that dints the parts entire
With chast affects, that naught but death can sever.

Then thinke not long in taking litle paine,
To knit the knot, that ever shall remaine.