. . .

 

. . .

 

         -  Heed daughter . . . stars talk . . .

                  Can you hear it ?

Shakespeare : "Sonnet CVII"

 

Not mine own fears nor the prophetic soul

Of the wide world dreaming on things to come

Can yet the lease of my true love control,

Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.

The mortal moon hath her eclipsed endured,

And the sad augurs mock their own presage;

Incertainties now crown themselves assured,

And peace proclaims olives of endless age.

Now with the drops of this most balmy time

My love looks fresh, and Death to me suscribes,

Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,

While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes;

    And thou in this shalt find thy monument

    When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.

.

 

I am as constant as the northern star

Of whose true-fixed and resting quality

There is no fellow in the firmament

The skies are painted with unnumbered sparks

They are all fire and every one doth shine

But there's but one in all doth hold his place

So in the world

                                               Shakespeare

Shakespeare : "Sonnet CXVI"

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken,

It is the star to every wand'ring bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

      If this be error, and upon me proved,

      I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Shakespeare's Sonnets