The 99 Poem Challenge (Fox-Trot-9) ✓

18. Blank Verse -- William Shakespeare

The 99 Poem Challenge
Fox-Trot-9

18. Blank Verse — William Shakespeare

1

Doubt I the stars are fire: for there's no fire
O'er earth's expansive theater that could
Undo or quench this burning fire of love.
But 'twixt my love's and stars' consuming embers,
There's something to contrast between the two. 

These eyes are not a pair of twinkling orbs;
Her eyes are just as dark as stars are bright
O'er quiet fields beneath a night so clear
Upon a midnight summer's balmy scene.

The twinkling stars above my tilted head
Hath greater beauty, equalling and even
Exceeding mortal eyes in luminance.

Since mortal eyes can fade much faster than
Th' immortal gems of heaven, common sense
Adjures that greater beauty lies, with some
Respect to time and place, in higher things;
Such truth is this, that I can little argue.

And yet, I'd rather doubt that stars can burn,
Resigning every ounce of sense I have,
Endearing her weak fire above all else.

Forget that I have sworn against the truth:
I care no more for such a strong defense,
Recanting every rationale of thought
Except these burning thoughts I have for her.

2

Doubt I the sun doth move: for there's no sun
O'erhead within that vast expanse of blue
Upon which I have reason to fixate.
But 'twixt my love's and sun's revolving compass,
There's something to contrast between the two.

The eye of heaven moves across the sky to
Hasten this world with all its teeming millions,
Arousing men from sleep to toil about
The day, till night would herald sleep again. 

The sun hath more the praise of men, while thou
Hast very few to sway but few of them,
Enjoying but a fraction's worth of notice.

Since heaven's eye hath larger audience
Upon its changing course, my common sense
Negates thy worth for larger sums divine.

Despite this fact, I'd rather closely follow
On grounded feet with grounded eyes a love
That l can reach and hold within my two
Hands, centering on her mine every action.

Moreover, when fixating on my love,
On her sweet soul shall I compose a sweet
Vernacular that few can hope to pen,
Engraving her the sun within my sky.

3

Doubt I to know the truth: for there's no truth
Of greater weight than my true love,
Unsound as mine assertions may yet seem.
But 'twixt my love's and truth's defining virtues,
There's something to compare between the two.

The truth's a beauty only I can see,
Resembling not the graces other poets'
Unfitting eyes perceive and therefore praise.
They see with blunted eyes but often list
Her handsome parts in lines so sweet to read.

Their use of style and rhyme and metaphor
Outwits the best my witless self can pen.

Bemoaning fickle skill to pen her merits,
Endeavor I for better wit and rhyme!

And yet, her love negates my waning prowess.

Let better poets praise with better verse;
I'm blessed to know the truth within her eyes,
A truth of greater sum than all the sums
Respected poets beautified with lies!

4

But doubting such a love? I never will;
Until the stars and sun and even truth
Together die, I'll never doubt her love.

Never so long as eyes can see and mouths
Exhale—oh never till the winds of vile
Vicissitude turn monuments to love's
Eternal truth to dust shall I e'er doubt,
Resisting even then the Reaper's scythe.

Discount the way I write these awkward lines,
Oh mistress mine, nor think mine adoration
Untamed; because true love cannot be measured
By measuring the strength of written words
Together with the strength of stirring thoughts.

My love for thee lives not upon this page,
Yellowed with age with lines of rusted ink.

Let those sweet eyes peruse the better verses
Of those exceeding me in skill, but please
Vouchsafe me only one request: their lines
Enjoy for skill, my lines enjoy for love. 

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt my love.
—William Shakespeare

(To be continued...)

A/N: Blank verse is poetry written in unrhymed lines in a regular meter, usually iambic pentameter.

Meter: Iambic pentameter
Rhyme: Blank verse