Saturday, September 12, 2009

My Favorite Sonnet by Shakespeare


oft, when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blest than living lips.
   Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
   Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

You are my music. You play music beautifully, and when you do I envy the instrument you are playing.  The instrument gets to kiss your hands. Your instrument is more blest than my own lips, which are envious of the instrument's touch. The instrument is happy to use your hands, so give your lips to me.
I am sure this sonnet is about a harpsichord, but I like to think it is about a violin. Just because  :)

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