Of the Week

John Milton went blind in his forties. The loss of his eyesight, "that one Talent which is death to hide," is almost certainly the subject of this sonnet. It was after Milton went blind that he wrote (dictated)  Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained, and many other works. When I consider how my light is spent,   E're half my days, in this dark world and wide,   And that one Talent which is death to hide,   Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present   My true account, least he returning chide,   Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,   I fondly ask; But patience to prevent That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need   Either man's work or his own gifts, who best   Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best, his State Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed   And post o're Land and Ocean without rest:   They also serve who only stand and waite. "they that wait up...

Poet: William Shakespeare (1564-1616) Published: 1609 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 wandering 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. "Spruce Forest Night Sky Stars" by ForestWander Nature Photography /  CC BY-SA 3.0 US, unmodified