I love visiting The Magic Kingdom and I always stop by the Haunted Mansion. I find the tongue and cheek humor of the grave yard delightful.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Friday, June 24, 2011
"Not marble, nor the gilded monuments"
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of Princes, shall outlive this powerful rime;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor wars quick fire shall burn
the living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
Sonnet LV
William Shakespeare
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
when yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
that on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it is nourish'd by.
This thou percfeiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.
Sonnet LXXIII
William Shakespeare
"When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought"
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear times' waste;
Then can I drown and eye, unus'd to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And Moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
"How Like A Winter Hath My Absence Been"
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 everywhere.
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 widowed wombs after their lords' decease;
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans and unfathered fruit;
for summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds mute;
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
Sonnet XCVII
William Shakespeare
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
"Not Mine Own Fears, Nor The Prophetic Soul"
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confin'd doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd,
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of the most balmy time,
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor time,
while he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes;
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.
Sonnet CVII
William Shakespeare
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