A poem for Wednesday

I haven't read any Shakespeare in years, though my complete collection has moved three times across the Atlantic with me. The collection was my Dad's first and they are the kinds of books you inhale as you read. Dad gave them to me when I was in school, though there was no ceremony involved... more that he let me take them and put them in my bedroom. Last night I got it in my head to read some sonnets and I did so out loud. I love this one, having talked about letting go on Sunday, it spoke to my present mood.

LXXXVII
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.

For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.

Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.

Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter—
In sleep, a king; but waking, no such matter.
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