Shakespearean Variation: Sonnet 38
How can my Muse want subject to invent
when words themselves burst up in nearly-verse?
Though some are poor, yet some are excellent;
some excellences need me to rehearse,
but some like sudden breezes come to me.
Yet there are glories hidden to the sight,
just like the spirit hidden inside thee,
and poetry is tasked with bringing light
to things of purer depths and higher worth.
Thus, Muses, words I lift to invocate;
let gates of heaven, flooding, issue forth
with graces lasting beyond ev'ry date.
-- And, as for me, my soul shall spend its days
in giving to each glory rightful praise.
