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Sonnet 71: No longer mourn for me when I am dead…
But let your love even with my life decay, Lest the wise world should look into your moan And mock you with me after I am gone. To abandon precious memories simply because a few cynics in the world might laugh at them would be a poor and calculating response to love. Love and pain and work should all sleep, now. Its primary message seems to be the depth of commitment in love that the writer experiences — it is a love which has no boundary, even to the extent of submitting itself to full and final annihilation, without even the lingering memory remaining of what he once was. The final couplet provides the clinching reason and justification for forgetting the loved one, but its essential weakness undermines it.
I Ioy to see how in your drawen work, Your selfe vnto the Bee ye doe compare; and me vnto the Spyder that doth lurke, in close awayt to catch her vnaware. And now you're mine. The conjuration not to mourn occurs at the beginning of the quatrain, and it is almost forgotten by the end of the four lines. But let your love even with my life decay, Lest the wise world should look into your moan And mock you with me after I am gone. Your hands have already opened their delicate fists and let their soft drifting signs drop away; your eyes closed like two gray wings, and I move. Yet a few months--and on the peopled strand Pleasure shall all her varied forms display; Nymphs lightly tread the bright reflecting sand, And proud sails whiten all the summer bay: Then, from these winds that whistle keen and bleak, Music's delightful melodies shall float O'er the blue waters; but 'tis mine to seek Rather, some unfrequented shade, remote From sights and sounds of gaiety--I mourn All that gave me delight--Ah! The failure of the couplet forces us to re-examine its wider implications. Much more compelling are the reasons already advanced — I love you so, and I would not wish that memories of me might cause you pain.
Sonnet LXXI · Poem by William Shakespeare on links.lfg.com
It is appropriate that the group should be placed here, because, with 70 sonnets completed, the poet has figuratively reached the end of his alloted span of three score and ten years. No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it, for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe O! And all thensforth eternall peace shall see. Critics have noted the essential and inherent contradiction of this sonnet. But as your worke is wouen all about, with woodbynd flowers and fragrant Eglantine: so sweet your prison you in time shall proue, with many deare delights bedecked fyne. No longer mourn for me when I am dead Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe.
Two forces are opposed to each other in the poem, the force of love which knows no limits and would not have the beloved suffer one least pang on account of that love, and the force of memory which deepest love instils, which seeks to remain forever, even after death. She saw herself as a poet first and foremost, poetry at that period being considered the most exalted form of literature. A successful writer, she published ten novels, three books of poetry, four children's books, and other assorted works over the course of her career. The night turns on its invisible wheels, and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber. She initiated a revival of the English sonnet, helped establish the conventions of Gothic fiction, and wrote political novels of sensibility. Written at Weymouth in winter. O, if, I say, you look upon this verse When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.
Sonnet LXXI Sonnet LXXI No longer mourn for me when I am dead Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe. You will go, we will go together, over the waters of time. You cannot read a poem which asks you to forget its writer, without at the same time having the memory of that writer continuously thrust into your thoughts. THE chill waves whiten in the sharp North-east; Cold, cold the night-blast comes, with sullen sound, And black and gloomy, like my cheerless breast: Frowns the dark pier and lonely sea-view round. Rest with your dream in my dream. No longer mourn for me when I am dead Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe.
The youth is mocked as much as the ageing poet now dead. No one else will travel through the shadows with me, only you, evergreen, ever sun, ever moon. It is therefore necessary to call on some other reasons to stop the woe, some other force, and this is found, where else, but in the love that the poet has for the youth. Charlotte Turner Smith was an English Romantic poet and novelist. That love will insist that the youth is not allowed to suffer one jot of pain, and therefore he himself, the poet, must be forgotten as soon as he is gone.
Therefore we are invited not to judge him too harshly. Right so to your selfe were caught in cunning snare of a deare foe, and thralled to his loue: in whose streight bands ye now captiued are so firmely, that ye neuer may remoue. Scholars now credit her with transforming the sonnet into an expression of woeful sentiment. Sonnet 71: No longer mourn for me when I am dead… Poetry Foundation agenda angle-down angle-left angleRight arrow-down arrowRight bars calendar caret-down cart children highlight learningResources list mapMarker openBook p1 pin poetry-magazine print quoteLeft quoteRight slideshow tagAudio tagVideo teens trash-o. No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams. O, if, I say, you look upon this verse When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse. Mortality therefore re-establishes itself as a prime and predominant actor in the pantomime of life.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse. If we take the words of the poem at face value we are not to judge him harshly at all. But let your love even with my life decay, Lest the wise world should look into your moan And mock you with me after I am gone. . In the first quatrain the tolling of the death bell, which seems to recur with each passing line, is a forceful reminder of the love which survives after death, a reminder of the love which is and was. .
