Of my first writings in sweet-scented letters,
I have known through hurtlings of past woe,
Distilled from history pages his same old facade,
That in higher spirits tolls the bell at my door;
And with so much of extravaganza, a loftier subject
Of all the world beside to account for love:
Lord, the Saviour! in a cloud-couch rides the skies,
Ne'er to let go the way of all flesh, my elbows and knees,
Not least by white biers to brave the day,
When all hideous nights hath forsaken thee;
But in mother's lap a child of old that grows
Young e'eryday by darling buds of May!
(C) Hamnet Shakespeare
Hamnet Shakespeare's Other Poems
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Date Created: Tuesday, April 08,2014
Comments about this poem (Masque by Hamnet Shakespeare )
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