(based on Shakespeare's Sonnet LI )
Thus can my love capture the brightened stance
Of my wild bearer, whence from thee I speed;
To where thou art how shall I haste me thence?
Till I return, of watching is no need.
O what courage will my fine mount then find
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I ride as mounted on the wind;
In winged shadow no motion shall I know.
Ah, can no horse with my desire keep pace;
Therefore desire, of perfect'st love, full count,
Shall trumpet, no hesitation in his fiery race:
And love, for love, thus shall engage my mount
Since from this going he went wilful enow,
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.
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Two for Theoden:
I Shall Not Now Be Ashamed
(based on Shakespeare's Sonnet XXXIII )
Rohan's own glorious morning have I seen;
Echo these mountain-tops with sovereign horn
Spears glinting, spires in meadows green,
Gilding banners, white and green reborn.
Glory permits I'll basest men to ride
With honorable mount determined face,
And from the war-torn world no visage hide,
As a spear thrown, clean death and no disgrace,
Even so my sun one red morn did shine
With all triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out! alack! It was but one hour mine,
The darkest wings hath mask'd it from me now.
Yet e'en in this my heart no whit disdaineth;
Night of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth.
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Dark Were My Dreams, Of Late
(based on Shakespeare's Sonnet CVII)
Of a dark world dreaming on things of past
Can yet, releas'd by true love, control
Suppos'd as forfeit, sacrificed to doom's repast
The mortal man hath his eclipse endur'd
And the black counsel mock'd, no more engag'd;
Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd
And strength proclaim'd from clouded age.
Now with the drops of tears yet upon my sword
My heart lives fresh, and Death to me belied
Since spite of him I'll live and keep my words
While he insults o'er Orthanc's wounded pride.
And I in this shalt find a monument,
When tyrants' crest and sword of iron are spent.
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A Sonnet for Tom Bombadil
(based on Shakespeare's Sonnet LIII)
That millions of strange stories on you hinge?
Since every one hath, every one, one's tale,
And you but one, yet every story lend.
Describe conundrums, and the counterfeits
Are poorly imitated after you;
Goldberry's eyes are on your feather set,
And you in yellow boots bright, always new.
Speak of the spring, and music of the ear;
For they doth flower when your song appears,
And you in every blessed age will hear.
For in this woodland grace you have some part,
And you like none, none you, for constant heart.
A Sonnet for Goldberry
(Based on Shakespeare's Sonnet LXV)
But his mastership o'ersways their power,
How with this man shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is not stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the silver rain of lily-clad days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong as her soft sways?
O joyous meditation! where, alack!
Shall Tom's best jewel from Tom's chest lie hid?
For what strong hand could hold his great heart back?
Or who this gathering of beauty forbid?
O none; this gives the miracle its might:
That in lilies his love may still shine bright.
