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'When thou art gone'

The Yanks at Maggie's Farm in New England brought me Shakespeare's Sonnet XLIV today. They are radical, and they love their rural heritage in much the way that radical William Cobbett did. They are realistic and outspoken. They also love literature. Whether Cobbett shared their affection for beautiful, scantily clothed women, I don't know.

Sonnet XLIV

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then despite of space I would be brought,
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee;
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land,
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But, ah! thought kills me that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend time's leisure with my moan;
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.

Shakespeare's sonnets say what I feel then free me so I am greater than even fear, even woe. . .

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