Midsummer?

No drowsy dusk, no scent of elderflower
Or honeysuckle, dog-rose, eglantine
And all the garlands of Titania’s bower
As we poor, foolish mortals now incline
Our closest to the sun. Come solstice night,
I should walk, knee-deep, on the feathered edge
Of moth-soft fields suffused in amber light
While Oberon, enthroned beneath the hedge,
Holds court and toasts the world in golden ale.
Instead, I shiver in the house as rain
Smacks on the glass like grape-shot, and a gale
Roars in from the Atlantic once again.
The weathermen despair: all hope depends
On honest Puck, who shall restore amends.

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2 thoughts on “Midsummer?

  1. This sonnet is absolutely as good as poetry gets, Nick. The language:
    No drowsy dusk, no scent of elderflower
    Or honeysuckle, dog-rose, eglantine
    And all the garlands of Titania’s bower
    As we poor, foolish mortals now incline
    Our closest to the sun.
    God is that beautiful! And the couplet at the end:
    The weathermen despair: all hope depends
    On honest Puck, who shall restore amends.
    Shakespeare’s character in a Shakespearean sonnet! This is droll, funny, meaningful, full of hope in the face of continual drenching, and altogether wonderful.

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