Shakespeare here, as often he did, has stated what is universally capable of being felt, in this famed and eloquent sonnet, which is at the same time verbal music: 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 an eye, unusd to flow, For precious friends hid in deaths dateless night, And weep afresh loves long since cancelld woe, And moan the expense of many a vanished sight . . . But please note that the second line does NOT contain the correct translation of the title to Marcel Prousts A La Recherche du Temps Perdu which correctly rendered would be closer, I think, to In Quest of Time Lost . . .
Posted on: Thu, 07 Aug 2014 06:48:02 +0000
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