Amoretti: Sonnet 75 One day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Again I write it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey. Vain man, said she, that doest in vain assay, A mortal thing so to immortalize, For I myself shall like to this decay, And eek my name be wiped out likewise. Not so, (quod I) let baser things devise To die in dust, but you shall live by fame: My verse, your virtues rare shall eternize, And in the heavens write your glorious name. Where whenas death shall all the world subdue, Our love shall live, and later life renew. Edmund Spenser 1594 Sonnets Amoretti: Sonnet 75 1
Sonnet 39: Come Sleep; O Sleep! Come Sleep; O Sleep! the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, Th' indifferent judge between the high and low; With shield of proof shield me from out the prease Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw: O make in me those civil wars to cease; I will good tribute pay, if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise and blind of light, A rosy garland and a weary head; And if these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. Sir Phillip Sidney Late 1500s Sonnets Sonnet 39: Come Sleep; O Sleep! 2
Sonnet 19: When I Consider How My Light Is Spent When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide; Doth God exact day-labour, light denied? I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need Either man s work or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed And post o er Land and Ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait. John Milton 1650s Sonnets Sonnet 19: When I Consider How My Light Is Spent 3
Ozymandias I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert.... Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away. Percy Bysshe Shelley 1818 Sonnets Ozymandias 4
When I have Fears That I May Cease to Be When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain, Before high-pilèd books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain; When I behold, upon the night s starred face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. John Keats. 1848 Sonnets When I have Fears That I May Cease to Be 5
Acquainted with the Night I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street, But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, One luminary clock against the sky Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night. Robert Frost 1928 Sonnets Acquainted with the Night 6
Those Winter Sundays Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he d call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, Speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love s austere and lonely offices? Robert Hayden 1962 Sonnets Those Winter Sundays 7