Sonnet No. 97


How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December’s bareness every where!
And yet this time remov’d was summer’s time;
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow’d wombs after their lords’ decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem’d to me
But hope of orphans and unfather’d fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute:
Or, if they sing, ’tis with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.

Sonnet No.97 , by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

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One Response to “Sonnet No. 97”

  1. but let’s not take a plane
    a loaded road to get the hell out of here
    forgoing winter’s lessons of decrease
    when we can desist from pleasure
    of the senses there are minds t measure

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