What's your favorite of Shakespeare's sonnets and why?

What's your favorite of Shakespeare's sonnets and why?

if it's 18, gb2reddit

Theyre all good at least the ones ive read but 40 and 60 are my favourite. Special s/o to 130 which was the first one i read and remains a favourite

That time of year thou may'st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day,
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by-and-by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

The imagery is simple but evocative, and it's one of the few instances in Shakespeare in which aging and death are not portrayed as outrages against human dignity. It borders on the sentimental, though, as a consequence.

And it reminds me if my grandmother.

this sort of 'art' is literally the lowest-common-denominator 'like dis if u ever loved some1 & relate 2 dis....' swill I have ever had the misfortune to read. I suggest anyone considering reading love poems, listening to songs about love, or watching a romcom instead save themselves time by thinking the words 'muh dick' for an equivalent experience I'm sure they will relate to just as much.

129 is my favourite. I love the intensity of the sexual frustration and self-loathing. It also changes the reading 130, I think.

i'm too dumb to understand shakespeare

Or just not be autistic

I think a lot of that is just the pure tension in antithesis. Shakespeare uses lit devices so naturally, boggles my mind. Same with 40. The ambiguity on "Love" is expertly done it makes you wish you had thought of it.

121

Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed

A Song is better than all of them

Shakespeare’s sonnets have the reputation as being the best in the biz. This is a fallacious claim, I believe, because very good arguments could be made for Petrarch’s, Spenser’s, Donne’s, Browning’s, Millay’s, Baudelaire’s, Rilke’s, Frost’s, Lowell’s, Berryman’s

When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check'd even by the selfsame sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.


Veeky Forums neckbeards just need some sweet love to remember then they'd scorn to change places with Kings and stop fucking whining

I agree, his poems are seldom as good as his plays. Many of the sonnets start out strong but it seems like after he has said what he wants, he let's the rest just limp on the page. Some of the couplets also seem forced imo.
His genius is in his plays. That isn't to say he wasn't an extremely gifted poet. He mastered so much. I think he just didn't put the same effort into his poems as he did his plays.

stfu dumbass nobody cares

...

I prefer the bitter ones involving the Dark Lady. 138 (which reminds me of Antony & Cleopatra):

When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutored youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed:
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O! love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love, loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flattered be.

Sonnets XVII, LXXI, and CXII

As a dead Irishman I find this offensive.

Shakespeare considered the sonnets his best work but I personally don't see much in them.

63 is good.

Against my love shall be as I am now,
With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn;
When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
Hath travelled on to age's steepy night;
And all those beauties whereof now he's king
Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life:
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them still green.

I have 2, Sonnets 145 and 60.

145:
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time, that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

60:
Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate,'
To me that languish'd for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
'I hate' she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away;
'I hate' from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying -- 'not you.'

I just love the language in them more than anything. Sonnet 60 reminds me a little of his Venus and Adonis.

18

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

:^)

Do we know who the Dark Lady is referenced in his poems?

Probably a man because Shakespeare was likely gay, or at the least bisexual.

What are you basing that on?

71 is one of his best.

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than 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.

18 is unironically his greatest, and if you dismiss it simply because of how well known it is, it's clear that you don't grasp it's full depth yourself.

Sonnet 22 is my favorite because of the raw feeling of love that it portrays. It's very bittersweet to me because it's beautiful and I'll never experience a feeling like that.

>>>/reddit/

Why read Rupi Kaur when she has no talent?

Do you think it matters? Not trying to challenge you, I just want to know whether you think knowing who the Dark Lady was based on (if she was indeed based on someone) would help us understand the sonnets better.

I mostly agree. The ending couplets often have a deflationary effect on the poems. There's this great build up of image, metaphor, and energy and then just--pfft. It's gone. The dramatic format seems to suit Shakespeare's poetic temperament much better. He's allowed to roam, explore, propose and reject without conclusion.

I have not read very many of his sonnets, honestly - only about ten or so. Of those I've read, I really liked Sonnet No.1.

What is your favorite OP, and I'll go read it.