Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all-triumphant splendor on my brow;
But, out alack, he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath masked him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no white disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven’s sun staineth.
This is Shakespeare’s 33rd sonnet and looks for all the world to be a comment on the English weather – the first 8 lines seem to be exactly about all those days that begin brilliantly and then become progressively dull and greyer – and the village has seen more than enough of those this year.
Yet the remaining 6 lines suggest that the poem is really a comment something much more personal than the weather: “… my sun …”