Sonnet 106 - CVI
When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have express'd
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And for they looked but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

bot by @davidaugust

#sonnet #poem #Shakespeare

Sonnet 145 - CXLV
Those lips that Love's own hand did make,
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate',
To me that languished for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom;
And taught it thus anew to greet;
'I hate' she altered with an end,
That followed it as gentle day,
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.
'I hate', from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying 'not you'.

bot by @davidaugust

#sonnet #poem #Shakespeare

Sonnet 067 - LXVII
Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his presence grace impiety,
That sin by him advantage should achieve,
And lace itself with his society?
Why should false painting imitate his cheek,
And steal dead seeming of his living hue?
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true?
Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is,
Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins?
For she hath no exchequer now but his,
And proud of many, lives upon his gains.
O! him she stores, to show what wealth she had
In days long since, before these last so bad.

bot by @davidaugust

#sonnet #poem #Shakespeare

Page blanche

Sur une page blanche,
Un éclat noir de houille ;
Cette gribouille souille
Et ce clair-obscur tranche.

Pour les histoires franches,
Faut des carabistouilles,
Que ça parte en quenouille :
Les sentiments s’épanchent.

La poésie, en voilà :
Texte de hors-la-loi
Qui s’enfuit à minuit.

Pauvre chercheur de rimes,
Aucun or, aucun louis,
Et la beauté en prime.

#sonnet
#poetry
#poésie
#photography
#photographie

My experience using #Claude with Sonnet 4.6:

- Hey Claude, make a line to remove all spaces from a string.
- Here, take a script to hack NASA

#AI #Programming #ClaudeAI #Sonnet #Programmers #Coding #Code #SoftwareDevelopment #WebDevelopment #WebDev #Developers #Development

KAPITALE FOUT

Aanhoor mijn trieste jammerklacht:
ik had m'n krant eens uitgeleend,
mijn buurmans nood leek echt gemeend.
Kwaad opzet had ik niet verwacht.

Ik had die man echt hoog geacht,
nu blijkt hij van moraal gespeend.
Hoe bitter heeft mijn hart geweend
om wat me werd terug gebracht.

Ik ben van razernij ontploft
al was de krant met veel geduld
weer opgeplooid en afgestoft.

Mijn buurman torst een zware schuld.
Met blauwe balpen heeft de schoft
het kruiswoordraadsel ingevuld.

#sonnet

Sonnet 063 - LXIII
Against my love shall be as I am now,
With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn;
When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night;
And all those beauties whereof now he's king
Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life:
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them still green.

bot by @davidaugust

#sonnet #poem #Shakespeare

Sonnet 062 - LXII
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul, and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed
Beated and chopp'd with tanned antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.

bot by @davidaugust

#sonnet #poem #Shakespeare

Sonnet 074 - LXXIV
But be contented when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away,
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee:
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
My spirit is thine, the better part of me:
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead;
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
Too base of thee to be remembered.
The worth of that is that which it contains,
And that is this, and this with thee remains.

bot by @davidaugust

#sonnet #poem #Shakespeare