Writings in the Sand

Happy Birthday, Will!

Today is April 23, Shakespeare's 461st birthday.

For sure and forsooth, this fellow is long in the tooth.

In his honor and as a tribute to his longevity in the world of literature, here is one of his sonnets about advancing age:

That time of year thou mayst 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 perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Personally, I love theb"bare, ruined choirs" and am always sad to see the buds on the trees in the spring season.