More Shakespeare's Sonnets
By Fox-Trot-9

Sonnet 4: The Poet
(Introduction 1)

Such vile reflection's woe for woe in verse
Did cause an ache too taxing for this heart
Of mine to take, afflicted by the curse
Of raving fools who dote on love's cruel smart.
And so, to stall an ache that maketh maids
And swains alike to mourn the dead, away
Would I have walked and never felt the shades
Of doom incline my weary self to pray;
But then in through the window did it land
In flaming sparks, that I (so woeful then)
Forgot such woe, forgetting thus to stand-
And, thus, befalling by the waist again.
       And now, as darkness fades away the light,
       In blindness I descend to dreamy night.

(To be continued...)

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