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Sonnet 110
Alas! ’tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made my self a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old offences of affections new;
Most true it is, that I have looked on truth
Askance and strangely; but, by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end:
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.
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Sonnet #36: The Final Note
The real reason why Sherlock didn’t contact John after faking his death.
Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love’s sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love’s delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
[Let me confess that we two must part, even though we are united in love. That is the only way I can carry the disgraces that we’ve incurred together all by myself, bearing them without any help from you.
In our love for each other there is a single mind. And even though circumstances, which force us apart, can’t destroy our love, they rob us of our special time together.
I can never greet you openly again, because my guilt would bring shame upon you. Nor can you ever honor me with public kindness without dishonoring your own reputation. But don’t do that. I love you so much that I value your good reputation as my own.]
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Happy Bard’day!
“There was a star danced, and under that was I born.” - William Shakespeare
There is nothing I can say about Shakespeare that hasn’t already been said before. As one of the greatest playwright the world has ever seen, his plays are still viable… ever awesome, ever green.
Shakespeare, no matter who we are or where, still has a power over us… a strange power, not unlike the one Hamlet’s father had over him. A power that awes, inspires - transcending through space and time…
So here’s a toast, to the one who shaped my life (and no doubt the lives of many others before me) and gave me the courage to believe… to fly.
“The souls most fed with Shakespeare’s flame
Still sat unconquered in a ring,
Remembering him like anything.G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936), The Shakespeare Memorial
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Leaves of Grass # 56
I don’t ship Wincest, but this is too perfect.
WE two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going - North and South excursions making,
Power enjoying - elbows stretching - fingers clutching;
Arm’d and fearless - eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning - sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming - air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.
- Walt Whitman
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Sonnet #71: Sam/Dean - The Last Goodbye
The final promise Sam extracts from Dean, before his death in Swan Song (5.22)
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.
But let your love even with my life decay,
Lest the wise world should look into your moan
And mock you with me after I am gone.
[When I’m dead, mourn for me no longer than you can hear the funeral bell, telling the everyone that I’ve left this horrible world to live with even more horrible creatures (down there).
No, if you are reading this don’t remember the person who wrote it, because I love you so much, that I rather you forgot about me, than reminisced and became miserable. Hell, if you are, indeed, reading this letter after I’m one with the earth, don’t so much as repeat my name to anyone, but let your love for me slowly fade away, along side my body.
Because I don’t want the “wise” people of the world to see your sadness and mock you about it (about us) after I’m gone.]
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