Friday Poem: To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing

By William Shakespeare

Spoken by Macbeth at Dunsinane, near the end of it all, having been told that Lady Macbeth was dead — last year, I saw Christopher Eccelston play Macbeth, his rendition of this particular speech brought me to tears.

Full text at :  http://shakespeare.mit.edu/macbeth/macbeth.5.5.html

1 thought on “Friday Poem: To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow

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