(From Shakespeare's Sonnet XLV)
These skills two, slight air and burning fire,
Are both in me, wherever I abide;
The first my thought, the other my power.
These present troubles when swift events collide
And when these quicker elements were gone from me,
A desperate command for all to flee.
My life, being pulled by fire, left you alone;
Falling down to death, oppress'd with melancholy;
Until my life's composition be recur'd
By one swift-wing'd eagle return'd for me.
Tho' even now I've come back again, assur'd
Of thy far travels, recounted to me:
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
I recall the danger back again, and straight grow sad.
(From Shakespeare's Sonnet XCVII)
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the agony of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What rocky, cold barrenness everywhere!
Yes, this time remov'd was a desperate time:
Their wandering season sorrow did increase,
Bearing the terrible burden of the Ring,
Like leaderless soldiers after their lords' decease,
And this frail questing seem'd to me
But hope of orphans, and withering fruit;
For Sauron in his tower seeks for thee,
And thou away, the very lands are mute;
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,