Sonnet 43 is undoubtedly one of my favourites of the great William Shakespeare. I cannot quite locate the root to my fascination for this sonnet; this love was planted some years back. Perhaps I was a bit of a romantic. Perhaps I have always been troubled by the brightness of my then-lovers’ dreamed silhouettes in my mind’s eye. In any case, the following was recited with somebody in mind, on a dreary, chocolate-laden midnight.
For my tiger, my sun and stars, my bedrock and ex-fossil:
When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright are bright in dark directed;
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow’s form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so?
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay?
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.