On Monsieur's Departure

When I was in high school, people would ask what my favorite subject was, and, without hesitation, I would instantly respond "English."  My dad would tease me and say that I was required to say "English" since he taught English at my high school.  (I loved having him there, but that's another story for another time.  It was so great going to high school with my dad, who sometimes still acts like a teenager himself.  I even had the privilege of sitting next to him during my graduation ceremony.  Don't worry, we have plenty of selfies we took when we got bored.)  But it wasn't out of guilt that I chose English.  It was a love for the English language, for reading, analyzing, and writing. I haven't taken any English classes this year at BYU, and I realized that I've missed it.  We'll see what happens with that..

My dear friend Megan (who may be my favorite friend, for she is an English Major) recently shared a beautiful poem with me that I'd like to share.  It's titled "On Monsieur's Departure," written by Elizabeth I.

I grieve and dare not show my discontent,

I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,

I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,

I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate.

    I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned,

    Since from myself another self I turned.

My care is like my shadow in the sun,

Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,

Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.

His too familiar care doth make me rue it.

    No means I find to rid him from my breast,

    Till by the end of things it be supprest.

Some gentler passion slide into my mind,

For I am soft and made of melting snow;

Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.

Let me or float or sink, be high or low.

    Or let me live with some more sweet content,

    Or die and so forget what love ere meant.

I'm not sure why, but this poem is so lovely and moving to me (not for any personal experience, mind you).  Maybe it's because I miss analyzing literature in English class, evident in my earlier rant about my favorite class.  Or maybe I relate to my homegurl, Liz the First.  Whatever the reason is, I wanted to remember this enchanting poem.  And I bet that this was dear Elizabeth's version of expressing her feelings.  I don't think they had blogs in the 16th century...