https://sonett.fontane-place.de/ Mon, 29 Jun 2026 04:08:13 +0000 MyBB https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14839 Mon, 28 May 2007 17:18:01 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14839
Jervis, my friend, I envy you the art
Which you profess, and which possesses you,
To mimic Nature; unto her so true,
Your pictures are what she is to the heart,

The mystery of which it is a part,
That gladdens when we crush the vernal dew,
And saddens when leaves fall, and flowers are few;
Nor quite forsakes us in the noisy mart

Whence she is banished, save in slips of sky
That swim in mist, or drip in dreary rain,
No glimpse of peaks far off, nor forests nigh,

Only dark streets, strange forms, a barren pain;
Till to my wall I turn a longing eye,
When you restore me mountains, wood again!]]>
Jervis, my friend, I envy you the art
Which you profess, and which possesses you,
To mimic Nature; unto her so true,
Your pictures are what she is to the heart,

The mystery of which it is a part,
That gladdens when we crush the vernal dew,
And saddens when leaves fall, and flowers are few;
Nor quite forsakes us in the noisy mart

Whence she is banished, save in slips of sky
That swim in mist, or drip in dreary rain,
No glimpse of peaks far off, nor forests nigh,

Only dark streets, strange forms, a barren pain;
Till to my wall I turn a longing eye,
When you restore me mountains, wood again!]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14838 Mon, 28 May 2007 17:17:27 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14838 (With a volume of Shakespeare’s Sonnets.)

What can I give him, who so much hath given, -
That princely heart, so over kind to me,
Who, richly guerdoned both of earth and heaven,
Holds for his friends his heritage in fee?

No costly trinket of the golden ore,
Nor precous jewel of the distant Ind:
Ay me! these are not hoarded in my store,
Who have no coffers but my grateful mind.

What gift then, - nothing? Stay, this book of song
May show my poverty and thy desert,
Steeped as it is in love, and love’s sweet wrong,
Red with the blood that ran through Shakespeare’s heart.

Read it once more, and, fancy soaing free,
Think, if thou canst, that I am singing thee!]]> (With a volume of Shakespeare’s Sonnets.)

What can I give him, who so much hath given, -
That princely heart, so over kind to me,
Who, richly guerdoned both of earth and heaven,
Holds for his friends his heritage in fee?

No costly trinket of the golden ore,
Nor precous jewel of the distant Ind:
Ay me! these are not hoarded in my store,
Who have no coffers but my grateful mind.

What gift then, - nothing? Stay, this book of song
May show my poverty and thy desert,
Steeped as it is in love, and love’s sweet wrong,
Red with the blood that ran through Shakespeare’s heart.

Read it once more, and, fancy soaing free,
Think, if thou canst, that I am singing thee!]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14837 Mon, 28 May 2007 17:16:45 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14837 (With a volume of Shakespeare’s Sonnets)

Had we been living in the antique days,
With him whose young but cunning fingers penned
There sugared sonnets to his strange-sweet friend,
I dare be sworn we would have won the bays.

Why not? We could have twined in amorous phrase
Sonnets like these, where love and friendship blend,
(Or were they writ for some more private end?)
And this, we see, remembered is with praise.

Yes, there’s a luck in most things, and in none
More than in being born at the right time,
It boots not what the labor to be done,

Or feats of arms, or arts, or building rhyme.
Not that the heavens the little can make great,
But many a man has lived an age too late!]]> (With a volume of Shakespeare’s Sonnets)

Had we been living in the antique days,
With him whose young but cunning fingers penned
There sugared sonnets to his strange-sweet friend,
I dare be sworn we would have won the bays.

Why not? We could have twined in amorous phrase
Sonnets like these, where love and friendship blend,
(Or were they writ for some more private end?)
And this, we see, remembered is with praise.

Yes, there’s a luck in most things, and in none
More than in being born at the right time,
It boots not what the labor to be done,

Or feats of arms, or arts, or building rhyme.
Not that the heavens the little can make great,
But many a man has lived an age too late!]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14836 Mon, 28 May 2007 17:16:00 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14836 On his fourtieth birthday

“Whom the gods love die young,” we have been told,
And wise of some the saying seems to be;
Of others foolish; as it is of thee,
Who proven hast, “Whom the gods love live old.”

For have not forty seasons o’er thee rolled,
The worst propitious, - setting like the sea
Towards the heaven of prosperity,
Now full in sight, so fair the wind doth hold?

Hast thou not fame, the poet’s chief derise;
A wife, whom thou dost love, who loves thee well;
A child, in whom your differing natures blend;

And friends, troops of them, who respect, - admire?
(How deeply one, it suits not now to tell
Such lives are long, and have a perfect end.]]> On his fourtieth birthday

“Whom the gods love die young,” we have been told,
And wise of some the saying seems to be;
Of others foolish; as it is of thee,
Who proven hast, “Whom the gods love live old.”

For have not forty seasons o’er thee rolled,
The worst propitious, - setting like the sea
Towards the heaven of prosperity,
Now full in sight, so fair the wind doth hold?

Hast thou not fame, the poet’s chief derise;
A wife, whom thou dost love, who loves thee well;
A child, in whom your differing natures blend;

And friends, troops of them, who respect, - admire?
(How deeply one, it suits not now to tell
Such lives are long, and have a perfect end.]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14835 Mon, 28 May 2007 17:15:28 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14835
England, if Time from out the Book of Fame
Should blod the desperate valor of thy men,
In the Crimea, an Englishwoman’s name,
As sweet as ever came from poet’s pen,

Would still defy him, - Florence Nightingale!
Honor to that fair girl, whose pitying heart
Led her across the sea, to ease the smart
Of soldier-wounds, and soothe the soldier’s wail.

Men can be great when great occasions call:
In little duties woman find their spheres, -
The narrow cares that cluster round the hearth;

But this dear woman wipes a nation’s tears,
And wears the crown of woomanhood for all:
Happy the land that gave such goodness birth!]]>
England, if Time from out the Book of Fame
Should blod the desperate valor of thy men,
In the Crimea, an Englishwoman’s name,
As sweet as ever came from poet’s pen,

Would still defy him, - Florence Nightingale!
Honor to that fair girl, whose pitying heart
Led her across the sea, to ease the smart
Of soldier-wounds, and soothe the soldier’s wail.

Men can be great when great occasions call:
In little duties woman find their spheres, -
The narrow cares that cluster round the hearth;

But this dear woman wipes a nation’s tears,
And wears the crown of woomanhood for all:
Happy the land that gave such goodness birth!]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14834 Mon, 28 May 2007 17:14:51 +0200 ZaunköniG]]> https://sonett.fontane-place.de/showthread.php?tid=14834 (Gettysburg, July 3, 1863)

Many the ways that lead to death, but few
Grandly, and one alone is glory’s gate, -
Standing wherever free men dare their fate,
Determined, as thou wert, to die – or do!

This thou hast passed, young soldier, storming through
The fiery darkness round it, - not too late
To know the invaders beaten from thy State, -
Ah, why too soon to rout them, and pursue?

But some must fall as thou hast fallen; some
Remain to fight, and fall another day;
And some go down in peace to their long rest.

If’t were not now, it would be still to come;
And whether now, or when thy hairs were gray,
Were fittest for thee – God alone knows best.]]> (Gettysburg, July 3, 1863)

Many the ways that lead to death, but few
Grandly, and one alone is glory’s gate, -
Standing wherever free men dare their fate,
Determined, as thou wert, to die – or do!

This thou hast passed, young soldier, storming through
The fiery darkness round it, - not too late
To know the invaders beaten from thy State, -
Ah, why too soon to rout them, and pursue?

But some must fall as thou hast fallen; some
Remain to fight, and fall another day;
And some go down in peace to their long rest.

If’t were not now, it would be still to come;
And whether now, or when thy hairs were gray,
Were fittest for thee – God alone knows best.]]>