The 400th Anniversary of the publication of Shakespeare's Sonnets

Yesterday was the day, and I missed it, but I still wanted to offer up something in celebration of the occasion, for the sonnets of Mr. Shakespeare are among my very favorite of his writings. The following is a lovely piece, read by the one and only Alan Rickman, Shakespeare's Sonnet number 130.

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A Wintry Sonnet

A Robin said: The Spring will never come,

And I shall never care to build again.

A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome,

My sap will never stir for sun or rain.

The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow,

I neither care to wax nor care to wane.

The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago,

Because earth’s rivers cannot fill the main.-

When Springtime came, red Robin built a nest,

And trilled a lover’s song in sheer delight.

Grey hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might

Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core.

The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest,

Dimpled his blue, yet thirsted evermore.



Christina Rossetti



Piano Concerto 23 in A major, ADAGIO by W.A. Mozart

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Blow thou winter wind

Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember’d not.

From As You Like It
by William Shakespeare

Chopin - Etude Op.25 No.11 ('Winter Wind') - Sviatoslav Richter

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A gratitude-heart

A gratitude-heart
Is to discover on earth
A Heaven-delivered rose.

Sri Chinmoy

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At Last

At Last

At last, when all the summer shine
That warmed life's early hours is past,
Your loving fingers seek for mine
And hold them close—at last—at last!
Not oft the robin comes to build
Its nest upon the leafless bough
By autumn robbed, by winter chilled,—
But you, dear heart, you love me now.

Though there are shadows on my brow
And furrows on my cheek, in truth,—
The marks where Time's remorseless plough
Broke up the blooming sward of Youth,—
Though fled is every girlish grace
Might win or hold a lover's vow,
Despite my sad and faded face,
And darkened heart, you love me now!

I count no more my wasted tears;
They left no echo of their fall;
I mourn no more my lonesome years;
This blessed hour atones for all.
I fear not all that Time or Fate
May bring to burden heart or brow,—
Strong in the love that came so late,
Our souls shall keep it always now!

-by Elizabeth Akers Allen

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