Only by the form, the pattern,
Can words or music reach
The stillness, as a Chinese jar still
Moves perpetually in its stillness.
T. S. Eliot
Four Quartets
Briunt Norton

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Sonnet no 112: By William Shakespeare . "Your love and pity doth the impression fill"


. Your love and pity doth the impression fill,
. Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
. So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?
You are my all-the-world, and I must strive
. To know my shames and praises from your tongue;
. None else to me, nor I to none alive,
. That my steeled sense or changes right or wrong.
. In so profound abysm I throw all care
. Of others' voices, that my adder's sense
. To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
. Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:
You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
. That all the world besides methinks y'are dead.

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