Friday, April 23, 2010

To Us, Fair Bard, You Are Immortal

Four Hundred and Forty - Six Beauteous Springs:
Happy Birthday Shakespeare!

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah, yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived:
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred;
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

William Shakespeare
b. 23 April 1564
d. 23 April 1616

Happy 446th!

1 comment:

  1. Joni said . . .
    We are off to Shakespeare in the park tonight. It's the last weekend for "Taming of the Shrew." That I like any of that stuff is all to your credit my little literary friend.