Monday afternoon sonnet

Mondays are actually not so bad  J  when compared with Fridays this semester.  Sonnet 52:  

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LII

  So am I as the rich, whose blessed key,

  Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,

  The which he will not every hour survey,

  For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.

  Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,

  Since, seldom coming in that long year set,

  Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,

  Or captain jewels in the carcanet.

  So is the time that keeps you as my chest,

  Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,

  To make some special instant special-blest,

  By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.

    Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,

    Being had, to triumph; being lacked, to hope.

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Okay, the whole thing turns on the last four words—a poem is such a magic machine  J!—so I’ll call the semicolon in the last line the volta.  The next one tomorrow—