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Thanks to a residency at EcoHealth, my verse these days finds inspiration in the specter of future pandemics; for my dissertation at LMU München, where I tutor and edit circulars on poetics and composition, I'm anatomizing the prosody of Robinson's sonnets—I also teach at MVHS and lead the Amerikahaus Literary Circle.

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XXXVII


by William Shakespeare

As a decrepit father takes delight,
To ſee his actiue childe do deeds of youth,
So I , made lame by Fortunes deareſt ſpight
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty,birth,or wealth,or wit,
Or any of theſe all,or all,or more
Intitled in thy parts,do crowned ſit,
I make my loue ingrafted to this ſtore:
So then I am not lame,poore, nor diſpiſ'd,
Whilſt that this ſhadow doth ſuch ſubſtance giue,
That I in thy abundance am ſuffic'd,
And by a part of all thy glory liue:
   Looke what is beſt,that beſt I wiſh in thee,
   This wiſh I haue,then ten times happy me.


Note:  A recitation can be heard here.

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