| | Sonnet 33 |
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Full many a glorious morning have I seen |
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Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, |
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Kissing with golden face the meadows green, |
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Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy, |
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Anon permit the basest clouds to ride |
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With ugly rack on his celestial face, |
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And from the fórlorn world his visage hide, |
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Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace. |
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Ev'n so my sun one early morn did shine |
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With all triumphant splendor on my brow; |
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But out alack, he was but one hour mine; |
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The region cloud hath masked him from me now. |
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Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth. |
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Suns of the world may stain when heav‘n’s sun staineth. |
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| Sonnet 33 |
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I've seen many beautiful mornings in which the sun beautifies the mountaintops, kissing the green meadows with its golden face and making streams sparkle as if by magic. But then it suddenly permits the nastiest clouds
to ride across its heavenly face, and it hides from the forlorn world, sneaking off to the west in disgrace. In exactly this way, early one morning my sun shone on my face with triumphant splendor, but alas he was only mine for one hour. The clouds have hidden him from me now. But I don't fault him for this at all. Golden men like him can disgrace themselves as much as the real sun does. |
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