(Some+of)+L.W's+Favourite+Poems+-+Other

Shall I compare thee to a Sommers day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough windes do shake the darling buds of maie, And Sommers lease hath all too short a date: Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd, And every faire from faire some-time declines, By chance, or natures changin course untrim'd: But thy eternall Sommer shall not fade, Nor loose possession of that faire thou ow'st, Nor shall death brag thou wandr'st in his shade, When in eternall lines to time thou grow'st, So long as men can breath or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
 * Sonnet 18 - William Shakespeare**

Analysis: This begins with the persona wanting to compare someone to "a Sommers day", as if they were equals - the person to whom the persona speaks, and the season of Summer. Then however, as the persona begins, the realisation comes that Summer is not neccessarily a great thing, and that it is a wasted comparison for "Thou art more lovely and more temperate". Summer is too hot, can be overcast, and all too short. However, the beauty fo the person to whom the persona speaks is everlasting, and cannot be taken, even by death. "But thy eternall Sommer shall not fade, Nor loose possession of that faire thou ow'st, Nor shall death brag thou wandr'st in his shade". Also, no particular setting is mentioned either, no place nor time; I think this adds to the immortality of this poem: it could be then, it could be now, or it could even be still to come.

The King sits in Dumgerling tourney, Drinking the blue0red wine: ‘O whar will I get guid sailor, To sail this schip of mine?
 * Sir Patrick Spens **

Up and spak an eldern knicht, Sat at the kings richt kne: ‘Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That sails upon the se.’

The king has written a braid letter, And signed it wi his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red, A loud lauch lauched he; The net line that Sir Patrick re, The teir blinder his ee.

‘O wha is this has don this deid, This ill deid don to me, To send me out this time o’ the yeir, To sail upon the se!

‘Mak hast, mak hast, my mirry men all, Our guid schip sails in the morne,’ ‘O say na sae, my master deir, For I feir a deadlie storme.

‘Late, late yestreen I saw the new moone, Wi the auld moone in hir arme, And I feir, I feir my dier master, That we will cum to harme.’

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith To weet their cork-heild schooner; Bot lang owre a’ the play wer playd, Thair hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang may their ladies sit, Wi their fans into their hand, Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spens Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang may the ladies stand, Wi their gold kems in their hair, Waiting for their ain deir lords, For they’ll see thame na mair.

Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour, It’s fiftie fadom deip, And their lies guid Sir Patrick Spens, Qi the Scot lords at his feit.

Analysis: To me, this poem seems just like the childrens' poem/song “A sailor went to sea” in that I don’t think there is any particular 'meaning’ in it; and that’s what I particularly like about this. There are times when it’s good to have meanings and search for them, but it’s also good on occasion to have a poem like this that has a nice rhyming scheme and is just a little more fun. Despite the ending, it still is fun, because for me at least, the story doesn’t matter – it’s about the tune, the rhythm. It’s like listening to a Latin song, or a young child listening to a song – the words may not be understood, but it doesn’t make much of a difference, it just has a good sound.