Scribd
Upload
299 views3 pages

Sonnets: Definition: Originated in Middle Ages, Iambic Pentameter, Always 14 Lines Long, May Be Either Petrarchan or

These three poems summarize sonnets and their forms, including the Petrarchan and Shakespearean sonnet structures. The Petrarchan sonnet has an octave rhyme scheme of abbaabba followed by a sestet of cdecde. The Shakespearean sonnet has three quatrains with a rhyme scheme of abab cdcd efef followed by a rhyming couplet.

Uploaded by

Stephen Chartrand
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
299 views3 pages

Sonnets: Definition: Originated in Middle Ages, Iambic Pentameter, Always 14 Lines Long, May Be Either Petrarchan or

These three poems summarize sonnets and their forms, including the Petrarchan and Shakespearean sonnet structures. The Petrarchan sonnet has an octave rhyme scheme of abbaabba followed by a sestet of cdecde. The Shakespearean sonnet has three quatrains with a rhyme scheme of abab cdcd efef followed by a rhyming couplet.

Uploaded by

Stephen Chartrand
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
You are on page 1/ 3

1

SONNETS
Definition: originated in Middle Ages, iambic pentameter, always 14 lines long, may be either Petrarchan or
Shakespearean or have other variations. Contained, compact, and demanding verse form.
Petrarchan (or Italian) Sonnet: composed of an octet and sestet. There is a turn from the octet to the sestet.
Rhyme scheme abbaabba cdecde

Shakespearean (or English) Sonnet: composed of 3 quatrains with a couplet at the end. Progressive steps with
summary. Rhyme scheme abab cdcd efef gg

My True Love Hath My Heart


Sir Philip Sydney
My true love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange, one for the other given.
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven.
His heart in me keeps me and him in one,
My heart in him, his thoughts and senses guides;
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
I cherish his, because in me it bides.
His heart his wound received from my sight;
My heart was wounded with his wounded heart;
For as from me on him his hurt did light,
So still methought in me his hurt did smart.
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss,
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
1590
[Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore]
William Shakespeare
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end,
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned,
Crocked eclipses gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth


And delves the parallels in beautys brow,
Feeds on the rarities of natures truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
1609
[When I consider how my light is spent]
John Milton
When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more
bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
:Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?
I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent*
That murmur, soon replies, god doth not need
Either mans work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post oer land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.
1652?
*Fondly: foolishly. Prevent: forestall.

2
Nuns Fret Not
William Wordsworth
Nuns fret not at their convents narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth the prison, unto which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,
In sundry moods, twas pastime to be bound
Within the sonnets scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
Should find brief solace there, as I have found.
1807

In the Park
Gwen Harwood
She sits in the park. Her clothes are out of date.
Two children whine and bicker, tug her skirt.
A third draws aimless patterns in the dirt.
Someone she loved once passes bytoo late
to feign indifference to that casual nod.
How nice, etcetera. Time holds great surprises.
From his neat head unquestionable rises
a small balloon . . . but for the grace of God . . .
They stand a while in the flickering light, rehearsing
the childrens names and birthdays. Its so sweet
to hear their chatter, watch them grow and thrive,
she says to his departing smile. Then, nursing
the youngest child, sits staring at her feet.
To the wind she says, They have eaten me alive.

First Fight. Then Fiddle.


Gwendolyn Brooks
First fight. Then fiddle. Ply the slipping string
With feathery sorcery: muzzle the note
With hurting love; the music that they wrote
Bewitch, bewilder. Qualify to sing
Threadwise. Devise no salt, no hempen thing
For the dear instrument to bear. Devote
The bow to silks and honey. Be remote
A while from malice and from murdering
But first to arms, to armor. Carry hate
In front of you and harmony behind.
Be deaf to music and to beauty blind.
Win war. Rise bloody, maybe not too late
For having first to civilize a space
Wherein to play your violin with grace.
1949

1963

Sweep Me through Your Many-Chambered Heart


Diane Ackerman
Sweep me through your many-chambered heart
if you like, or leave me here, flushed
amid the sap-ooze and blossom: one more dish
in the banquet called April, or think me hardwon all your days full of women. Weeks
later, till I felt your arms around
me like a shackle, heart all the sundown
wizardries the fired body speaks.
Tell me why, if it was no more than this,
The unmuddled tumble, the renegade kiss,
Today, rapt in a still life and unaware,
My paintbrush dropped like an amber hawk;
Thinking Id heard your footfall on the stair,
I listened, heartwise, for the knock.
1978

3
Spring Break
Anthony Hecht
I
The beach is the hot parade ground where brigades
Of suntanned girls disport themselves and thurst
Upon ones notice pelvis, butt, and bust,
And whitened noses bridged with heart-shaped
shade.
The boys are beery, laying plots to score,
Exhibiting heroic abs and pecs,
The showy animality of sex,
Which the girls make weak pretenses to ignore.
They are viewed by dry, bird-wristed, blue-rinsed
crones
With diamond rings and teeth of Klondike gold
Mounted on a frail armature of bones;
Their hatted husbands, once, perhaps, adored,
Now paunchy, rheumatoid, and feeling old,
Who joust at chess, assault at shuffleboard.

II
As at a signal and like an enormous swarm
Of monarch butterflies, the young ones head
Northward to strict assignments and to bed
Each of them in a rock-star-posted dorm,
And steel themselves for mastering Kants
Critique
Of impenetrable Reason, Picos claims
For human dignity, late Henry James
And insubordinate particles of Greek.
Meanwhile the elders breathe a grateful sigh;
Vanished are rudeness, arrogance, and noise.
Yet, a week later, what is their reward?
Views of the changeless ocean leave them bored,
And it would be ungenerous to deny
The girls were pretty and the boys were boys.
2004

You might also like