Friday Poetry Blogging

A little bard for your weekend. This is one of the lesser-known sonnets, but still one of my faves. I love the weird turn of tone at the end - it's like he suddenly had an attack of neuroses. If you want to get to know the sonnets better, you can go here (scroll down to the bottom of the page) and subscribe to a service that will send one to your inbox three times a week. It's a nice change from spam.


Sonnet XCI, by William Shakespeare

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force,
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my measure;
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,
Of more delight than hawks or horses be;
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away and me most wretched make.