Edward de Vere – Sonnets

From Italy, Petrarch was the father of sonnet form –
Love, Chastity, Death, Time, Eternity and Fame.
The sonnets came to England from Italy
in the early part of the 16th century,
via Wyatt and Henry, Earl of Surrey.
They liked the sonnet’s quality.
Henry was a relative of Oxenford
and travelled in Italy while abroad.
Edward knew the structure of a sonnet
and put his personal stamp upon it.

The author of the sonnets is addicted to love.
It is a strong feeling that he has to prove.
It has trapped him in a compulsive way
obsessively writing of it every day.
He loves to live, and lives to love.
It consumes his world below and above.
The lover’s blood has a strange alchemy,
dopamine is then a necessity.
He builds to an intensity,
which is mistaken for intimacy.
He describes love’s many given prescriptions
and indulges in many personal descriptions.

Loves many facets are seen through by him.
They are explored deeply, not on a whim.
But for those people where love is a drug
they need the blood doping, not just a hug.
The love subject is adored and praised,
but the object of love needs to be raised.
As soon as one love affair is over,
the needy addict looks for another.
The blood chemicals which give ups and downs,
also give the lover his smiles and his frowns.
If the love addict has a faithful wife,
he cares not; his need is a fact of life.
With the new lover the hormones arouse
and travel the vessels as they carouse.
The – in love – feeling comes as they mix,
just as the addict needs the next fix.
When love is over and the feeling has gone,
the chemicals in the blood are withdrawn.
Then there is melancholy, depression and despair.
The brain needs more help to make a repair.
The writer is left to dwell on the pain,
distracted only by a new love again.

Love is torture, joy and ambiguity,
sick and foolish in its flattery.
It is usury, praise and inconstancy.
It is fleeting, and lasts for eternity.
You must sacrifice, be used, and be hurt,
treated like a king, then like dirt.
You are preoccupied and often sick.
Love can endure or be somewhat quick.
Love can overwhelm you and deceive reality,
lay false trails and increase sensitivity.
It can heal you, and wound when judgment has fled;
and then make you feel you are better off dead.

The author is an extrovert, expressing love lavishly;
and an introvert internalizing it mindfully.
The author is also bisexual,
to declare so, then, was unusual.
There are lines in the sonnets of such great delight,
he has given the reader such a profound insight.