Hello poets and readers, I hope you can stand one more prompt about the shelter-in-place situation. I came across the following poem while doing research about sonnets. This poem by William Wordsworth shines the light on a paradoxical truth. Sometimes, constraints can be liberating. We put the real constraints on our mind, and somehow external constraints can set the mind free.
Nuns Fret Not
by William Wordsworth (1807)
Nuns fret not at their convents’ narrow room;
And hermits are contented with their cells;
And students with their pensive citadels;
Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,
Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,
High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,
Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:
In truth the prison, into which we doom
Ourselves, no prison is: and hence for me,
In sundry moods, ‘twas pastime to be bound
Within the Sonnet’s scanty plot of ground;
Pleased if some Souls (for such there needs must be)
Who have felt the weight of too much liberty,
should find brief solace there, as I have found.
See if you can write a poem in any poetic form of your choice.
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