“As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put besides his part,Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love's rite, And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might. O, let my books be then the eloquenceAnd dumb presagers of my speaking breast;Who plead for love, and look for recompense,More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.”
In this passage from William Shakespeare's Sonnet 23, the speaker compares himself to an actor who forgets his lines out of fear or a fierce animal whose strength overpowers its own heart. The speaker expresses his fear of trusting others, which causes him to struggle to express his love properly. He believes that his books and writings can convey his emotions more effectively than his spoken words, as they can speak on his behalf and plead for love and understanding. The speaker urges the reader to learn how to interpret and understand the silent expressions of love, showing that true love goes beyond mere words and requires a deeper perception and understanding.
In this passage, Shakespeare speaks of the struggle to express love and trust in relationships, comparing it to a flawed performance on stage. This idea remains relevant today, as many people still find it difficult to fully communicate their feelings and fears in their relationships. The use of books as a metaphor for unspoken emotions reinforces the importance of understanding and interpreting silent gestures of love. Learning to read between the lines in a relationship can enhance our ability to connect and communicate effectively with our partners.
In this excerpt from Sonnet 23 by William Shakespeare, the speaker compares himself to an actor who is unable to fully perform his role due to fear, or a person overwhelmed by their own emotions. The speaker expresses his struggle with expressing his love through words, stating that his books and actions speak louder than his words. This classic piece of poetry beautifully captures the complexity of love and the challenges of communication.
In this sonnet, Shakespeare reflects on his struggles with expressing love and trust. Here are some questions to ponder upon after reading the poem:
Take some time to reflect on these questions and consider how the themes in this sonnet may resonate with your own experiences and perceptions of love and trust.
“Why, such is love's transgression.Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prestWith more of thine: this love that thou hast shownDoth add more grief to too much of mine own.Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:What is it else? a madness most discreet,A choking gall and a preserving sweet.Farewell, my coz.”
“Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all,What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call, All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love thou my love receivest,I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest, But yet be blam’d, if thou this self deceivest By willful taste of what thyself refusest.”
“Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: O, but with mine compare thou thine own state, And thou shalt find it merits not reproving,”
“The eye of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, man's hand is not able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream was.”
“My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;Coral is far more red than her lips' red;If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,But no such roses see I in her cheeks;And in some perfumes is there more delightThan in the breath that from my mistress reeks.I love to hear her speak, yet well I knowThat music hath a far more pleasing sound;I grant I never saw a goddess go;My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.”
“O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!”