Friday, March 09, 2007

Poetry Friday: Winter, Shakespeare's Way

It's 9 degrees here, with sidewalks like glass. A tropical girl gets frostbitten fast, so I'm staying on the Fire Escape just long enough to present an excerpt from Love's Labour Lost, Act V, Scene IV. Kindly replace the word "Marion" with "Mitali."
When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marion’s nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

3 comments:

  1. Aw ! Poor you !! I wish you much warmth for your toes and your nose (and all the bits between !)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Nice choice, Mitali. I'm with you - it has been cruelly cold here, especially for those of us raised in warmer climes. But check out that sun today!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Yes, yes, yes! Boston phenomenon: the forties feel like seventies when you've been in single digits.

    ReplyDelete