| | Sonnet 34 |
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Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day |
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And make me travel forth without my cloak, |
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To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, |
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Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke? |
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'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, |
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To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face. |
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For no man well of such a salve can speak |
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That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace. |
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Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; |
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Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss. |
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The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief |
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To him that bears the strong offense's cross. |
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Ah, but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, |
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And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. |
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| Sonnet 34 |
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Sun, why did you make it look like today was going to be such a beautiful day, so that I went out without my cloak, only to let nasty clouds overtake me on my way, hiding your radiance behind their poisonous mist? It's not enough that you broke through the clouds and dried the rain off my storm-beaten face, because no man can be satisfied with a cure that heals the physical injury but doesn't take away the disgrace. Nor does it comfort me that you're ashamed, because even though you regret what you did, I have still lost out. When someone takes something away from you, their being sorry doesn't help much. Ah, but those tears you're shedding out of love for me are like pearls—very valuable ones—and they make up for all your bad deeds. |
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