I've been really busy with my day-job, and so haven't prepared any of my poems to put up here. So filling in for me today is The Bard himself. This is one of my favorite of his poems, and I used it (as well as a certain someone...) as inspiration for a sonnet of my own. For the full benefit of this poem, try reading it out-loud if you are in an area that you can.
Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies:
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.
William Shakespeare 1564-1616
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