February 25th, 2019


poem: Sonnet 146

William Shakespeare

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
(Foiled by) these rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Doest thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up they charge? Is this thy body's end?
Then, soul, live thou upon they servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead there's no more dying then.

I like this poem as a sort of balance or contrast to last week's--they're both about the inevitibility of loss, but that one is purely resignation to that fact, and this is using it as a motivation for change. The difference, I suppose, between someone who believes in an eternal reward and someone who doesn't.