sábado, 4 de agosto de 2012

Poetry: William Shakespeare Sonnets - 1 - Those hours. that with… - Then let not winter's ragged… - Lo in the orient when the gracious light - Music to hear. why hear'st thou… - Links


  Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
  The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
  Will play the tyrants to the very same
  And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
  For never-resting time leads summer on
  To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
  Sap checked with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,
  Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:
  Then were not summer's distillation left,
  A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
  Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
  Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was:
    But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,
    Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.


  Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,
  In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
  Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
  With beauty's treasure ere it be self-kill'd.
  That use is not forbidden usury,
  Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
  That's for thy self to breed another thee,
  Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
  Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
  If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee:
  Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
  Leaving thee living in posterity?
    Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
    To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.


  Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
  Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
  Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
  Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
  And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,
  Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
  Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
  Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
  But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
  Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
  The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
  From his low tract, and look another way:
    So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon:
    Unlook'd, on diest unless thou get a son.


  Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
  Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
  Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
  Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
  If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
  By unions married, do offend thine ear,
  They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
  In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
  Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
  Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
  Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
  Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
    Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
    Sings this to thee: 'Thou single wilt prove none.'

Poetry: William Shakespeare Sonnets - 1 - Those hours. that with… - Then let not winter's ragged… - Lo in the orient when the gracious light - Music to hear. why hear'st thou… - Links



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My blogs are an open house to all cultures, religions and countries. Be a follower if you like it, with this action you are building a new culture of tolerance, open mind and heart for peace, love and human respect.

Thanks :)

Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano.

Gracias :)

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