When sable quill did trace thy visage fair,
And Night herself grew jealous of thy skin,
I knew thee not as muse, but masked despair,
Whose grace conceal’d a wilful shade within.
Thou art no shadow born of wanton lie,
Nor Venus’ slave, nor Egypt’s dusky queen,
But she whom Oxford’s eye did oft espy,
In Fleet’s dim court, where secrets wax unseen.
Thy name is Bess, a scrivener’s bold delight...

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In "The Bard’s Eye on Now," Shakespeare’s spirit returns to behold the wonders and flaws of the modern age. With awe, he watches the rapid rise of technology, where thoughts soar like arrows across the sky and iron chariots race through the heavens. Yet, despite these marvels, he mourns the coldness of human hearts and the corruption of power, as greed and violence still plague mankind. This poem ...

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