Apr. 23rd, 2012

starlady: (compass)
Happy Birthday, [personal profile] recessional!



Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured,
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assured,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time,
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes:
     And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
     When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.


107 is generally agreed to be the most impenetrable of the entire sequence - for that reason, among others, I like it a lot. I greatly enjoy the fact that all of Shakespeare's vaunting predictions of poetic immortality came true. Happy Birthday, Mr. WS.

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