Of poetics and idealism.

I unzipped some old files and found a sonnet I wrote for an assignment in my English Literature class when I was 16 years old. Although Mrs. Hugelen was kind of a pervert, siding a bit too often with unorthodox interpretations of the symbolism of certain descriptions and rhyme schemes, she did teach us some novelties in the realm of literature, like how to read with an Old English accent. (Think Canterbury Tales.)

Anyway, I think it's actually a really decent sonnet and don't feel like it's bragging to say so because I was a completely different person 8 years ago and hardly take pride in anything I did then, be it positive or negative. I made one grammatical change, indicated in brackets. The title is needlessly verbose, as I continue to be to this day. I hope you like it.

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"Insurmountably Unattainable"

I’ll try to quantify that which I know,
But numbers, words, cannot fulfill this deed.
For yours is beauty purer than the snow,
Of which the springtime flower grows from seed.

Like sparkling dewdrops, brightly shine your eyes,
And captivate my soul with passing glance.
Dismiss and laugh, I will, but I won’t cry,
Despite the fact: I’ll never have a chance.

My flower withered when you spoke his name,
My petals fell, my heart was almost burst,
Quite sad it is that my heart you should maim,
When no one loved you more from very first.

I would have always been along your side,
But now my soul [has] gone and all but died.
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I love how this piece follows the classical meter, rhyme, and mood exactly with iambic pentameter (u/ x 5), abab cdcd efef gg, and the tone switch exactly at the 9th line, as is typical of the Shakespearian Sonnet.