Others abide our question. Thou art free.
We ask and ask. Thou smilest and art still.
True enough, the poet penned no memoirs; he barely left wing us Shakespeares Complete Works. Whatever else he may have been, the author was a genius-of-all-trades, a human creation who could do practically anything. Lyrics? The plays are full of lyrics. Sonnets? He left a whole volume of them. Narrative poems? When London was plague-ridden and the theaters, as hotbeds of contagion, had been closed, Shakespeare turned out two admirable specimens, Venus and genus Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece. And then consider his achievements as a dramatist.
He could write realistically in the style of a smooth and often am employ observer of contemporary life: he could dramatize biographies and historical chronicles; he could invent fairy stories and verbose fantasies; he could create (often out of the most unpromising unexampled material) huge tragic allegories of good and evil, in which almost godlike figures live their lives and die their often nauseatingening deaths. He could merge sublimity with pathos, bitterness with joy and peace and love, intellectual subtlety with derangement and the cryptic utterances of inspired wisdom.
And what about religion? The word is used to designate things as different from one another as Satanism and satori, as fetish-worship and the enlightenment of a Buddha, as the ample politico-theologic of financial organizations known as churches and the intensely private visions of an ecstatic. A Quaker silence is religion, so is Verdis Requiem. A sense of the demonic All-Rightness of the Universe is a religious experience and so is the sick souls sense of self-loathing, of despair, of...If you want to get a full essay, rove it on our website: Ordercustompaper.com
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