Late Night Poetry: Sonnet 98 (the Bard)

Ladies and Gentlemen, It’s the time you’ve all been waiting for — that’s right, it’s Late Night Poetry time, a monthly feature here at the Skinny (where our motto is: No, I Do Not Want To Hear That Song That Loud At This Hour).

Ah, spring! New buds, warm weather, and, if you’re Shakespeare, unconsolable longing. Get out your lighters, unwrap your pathos, and let’s all commiserate with lovelorn Will:

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer’s story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

– William Shakespeare

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