Thou of the tawny flowing hair in battle, I erewhile saw, with erect head, pressing ever in front, bearing a bright sword in thy hand, Now ending well in death the splendid fever of thy deeds, (I bring no dirge for it or thee, I bring a glad triumphal sonnet,) Desperate and glorious, aye in defeat most desperate, most glorious, After thy many battles in which never yielding up a gun or a color, Leaving behind thee a memory sweet to soldiers, Thou yieldest up thyself.
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I like the sonnet that begins, "Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?"
Our next workshop, no one understood what my sublimated love sonnet was all about, but Rudy’s brought down the house.
Julia Alvarez -- How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents