I’m tired, and punking out.
Here’s a sonnet by an ancestor of mine, Henry Howard, the Earl of Surrey.
The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings,
With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale;
The nightingale with feathers new she sings;
The turtle to her make hath told her tale.
Summer is come, for every spray now springs,
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings;
The fishes flete with new repaired scale;
The adder all her slough away she slings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flyes smale;
The busy bee her honey now she mings,
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Winter is worn that was the flowers’ bale.
And thus I see among these pleasant things
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.
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And to get to 200 words…
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“Love that doth reign and live within my thought”
Love that doth reign and live within my thoughtAnd built his seat within my captive breast,Clad in arms wherein with me he fought,Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.But she that taught me love and suffer pain,My doubtful hope and eke my hot desireWith shamefaced look to shadow and refrain,Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire.And coward Love, then, to the heart apaceTaketh his flight, where he doth lurk and ‘plain,His purpose lost, and dare not show his face.For my lord’s guilt thus faultless bide I pain,Yet from my lord shall not my foot remove,–Sweet is the death that taketh end by love.
Peace y’all
