#sonnet

As an unperfect actor upon the stage Who with much fear is put besides his part Or some fierce thing, replete with too much rage Whose strengths abundance weakens his own heart So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love's rite And in mine own love's strength seem to decay O'ercharged with burthen of my own love's might o, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast Who plead for love, and look for recompense More than that tongue that more hath express'd. O, learn to read what silent love hath writ To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#sonnet #unperfect-actor #love

If I wrote in a sonnet form, I would be distorting. Or if I had some great new idea for line breaks and I used it in a poem, but it's really not right for that poem, but I wanted it, that would be distorting. ↗

— Sharon Olds

#distorting #form #great #had #i

Even if you walk exactly the same route each time - as with a sonnet - the events along the route cannot be imagined to be the same from day to day, as the poet's health, sight, his anticipations, moods, fears, thoughts cannot be the same. ↗

— A. R. Ammons

#anticipations #cannot #day #day to day #each

In the case of Michel Angelo we have an artist who with brush and chisel portrayed literally thousands of human forms; but with this peculiarity, that while scores and scores of his male figures are obviously suffused and inspired by a romantic sentiment, there is hardly one of his female figures that is so,—the latter being mostly representative of woman in her part as mother, or sufferer, or prophetess or poetess, or in old age, or in any aspect of strength or tenderness, except that which associates itself especially with romantic love. Yet the cleanliness and dignity of Michel Angelo's male figures are incontestable, and bear striking witness to that nobility of the sentiment in him, which we have already seen illustrated in his sonnets. ↗

— Edward Carpenter

#homoeroticism #homosexuality #love #men #michelangelo

I'm working now on a collection of Shakespearean sonnets, about 100 of them, that I may publish if anyone's interested. My take on life is a little different from the bard's. ↗

— Jack Prelutsky

#anyone #collection #different #i #interested

I have always wanted what I have now come to call the voice of personal narrative. That has always been the appealing voice in poetry. It started for me lyrically in Shakespeare's sonnets. ↗

— Diane Wakoski

#appealing #been #call #come #i

My galley, charged with forgetfulness, Thorough sharp seas in winter nights doth pass 'Tween rock and rock; and eke mine enemy, alas, That is my lord, steereth with cruelness; And every oar a thought in readiness, As though that death were light in such a case. An endless wind doth tear the sail apace Of forced sighs and trusty fearfulness. A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain, Hath done the weared cords great hinderance; Wreathed with error and eke with ignorance. The stars be hid that led me to this pain. Drowned is reason that should me consort, And I remain despairing of the port. ↗

— Thomas Wyatt

#sonnet #death

Were kisses all the joys in bed,/One woman would another wed. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#marriage #sonnets #women #marriage

I believe that lovers should be draped in flowers/ And laid entwined together in a bed of clover/ Left there to sleep/ Left there to dream of happiness. ↗

— Conor Oberst

#bright-eyes #conor-oberst #depression #love #lovers