[1690] When in Disgrace with Fortune and Men's Eyes (Sonnet XXIX)

Continuing the theme of poems worth memorising:

When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate.
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the Lark at break of day arising)
From sullen earth sings hymns at Heaven's gate,
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with Kings.

    -- William Shakespeare

It's not so much that this sonnet moves me to memorise it, it's more that
(like much of Shakespeare) the language in it rings so true that having read
it once it's impossible to get it out of my head.

In many ways, Sonnet XXIX has always struck me as the perfect sonnet.  It's
not just that it's a brilliant demonstration of Shakespeare's incredible
command over the language. It's also the flawless marriage of that language
with form and content. Notice how the first eight lines form a sort of
prison of despair - a prison in which the lines pace restlessly back and
forth - and then the sextet that follows is a soaring escape from this
feeling, five lines of such incredible beauty that just reading them you can
hear your heart soar like a bird released. And Shakespeare doesn't just give
you the image to go with the feeling, he gives you a 12th line that seems to
follow from both the 10th and the 11th, making an otherwise tired metaphor
come breathlessly alive.

Plus of course there's the rhythm of the whole thing, the way every line
seems to trip so lightly onto your tongue, that it's almost impossible to
see how the thing could have been said any differently.  This is the
Shakespeare of the great monologues - a man whose gift for speech writing
has few equals. The wording is precise (and rich with little nuggets of wit
such as "what I most enjoy, contented least" or "change my state with
Kings") yet amazingly natural, even four centuries after the sonnet was
written. And there's something about lines 10-12 - a sort of singing
exultation - that make them truly unforgettable. The only thing I can think
of that can bring me such instant joy is the opening movement of Beethoven's
6th Symphony.

W.H. Auden described poetry as "a way of happening, a mouth". (In Memory of
W. B. Yeats [Poem #50] - another poem I remember every word of). Nowhere is
that as true as it is in Shakespeare - this is not simply a poem I remember,
it's a poem that is a part of how I think, a voice in my head.  Every time I
find myself envying someone in office, I can hear that voice mutter
"Desiring this man's art and that man's scope"; every time I try to get a
document through some government bureacracy I find myself repeating "Trouble
deaf heaven with my bootless cries"; every time I step out of my building
with a hangover and it's a beautiful, sunlit morning and the sky is a
brilliant blue the words in my head are "Like to a lark at break of day
arising / From sullen earth sings hymns at Heaven's gate".

Aseem

P.S. I can't believe you don't already have this on Minstrels!

[this poem is archived, accessible and awaiting your comments at]
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/1690.html
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