Poetry month

Yes, I know: it's over. But I missed Saturday, so everything got moved up a day. Besides, you couldn't expect me to skip my favorite poet and poems, could you?

XXIX.

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,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
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 rememb'red such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

CXXX.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

Confession time: I chose these sonnets at the beginning of April to be the poems for the last day of the month, because I love them. Now, reading through #29, I realize that the first 9 lines are precisely what I've been feeling for the past two weeks. How prescient.

From the moment I read #130 in high school, I recognized that this is what I wanted from my lover: recognition of myself for my SELF, not for any external characteristics I may or may not possess. How can you go wrong with someone who knows you aren't the pinnacle of society's standards of beauty but cherishes you as the One?