Sonnet Ciii Poem by William Shakespeare
Sonnet Ciii
Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument all bare is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside!
O, blame me not, if I no more can write!
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace.
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend,
To mar the subject that before was well?
For to no other pass my verses tend
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit
Your own glass shows you when you look in it.
.............love the theme and the rhyme...so beautifully written..
For limited by words are we To draw in verse such symetry And words imperfect, soiled by man Cannot true beauty understand
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 5:06:10 PM # 1.0.0.1119
In the previous Sonnet had been set forth the thought that poetical eulogy and embellishment can add nothing to perfect truth and beauty. They are to be regarded rather as injurious. The thought here presented is essentially the same. And the concluding lines furnish an excuse for the poet's previous silence.