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Shakespeare's Sonnet #57 Being your slave what |
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Written by Wilma Zalabak, M.Div.
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Thursday, 30 June 2011 16:58 |
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Though Shakespeare wrote it of human love, it is like the love You have put in my heart for You, my God.
Being your slave what should I do but tend,
Upon the hours, and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend;
Nor services to do till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
When you have bid your servant once adieu.
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought,
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But like a sad slave stay and think of nought
Save where you are, how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love, that in your will,
(Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill. |
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Shakespeare's Sonnet #33 Full Many a Glorious |
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Written by Wilma Zalabak, M.Div.
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Friday, 17 June 2011 14:06 |
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With only a tiny change in the last line to say what I want to say about God.
Full many a glorious morning have I seen,
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green;
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy:
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride,
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all triumphant splendour on my brow,
But out alack, he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath masked him from me now.
Yet him for this, my love no whit disdaineth,
Suns of the world may stain, yet heaven's Son remaineth. |
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Shakespeare's Sonnet #30 When to the Sessions |
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Written by Wilma Zalabak, M.Div.
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Thursday, 16 June 2011 16:56 |
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When to the sessions of sweet silent thought,
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye (unused to flow)
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee (dear friend)
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
It matters on what or whom I think. This one, this time, directed from me to God. |
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Shakespeare's Sonnett #29 When in Disgrace with Fortune |
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Written by Wilma Zalabak, M.Div.
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Tuesday, 14 June 2011 01:00 |
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Written by Shakespeare to someone. Read by me to God.
When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon my self and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate,
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings. |
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Last Updated on Tuesday, 14 June 2011 19:28 |
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Shakespeare