"Full many a glorious morning have I seen," the speaker begins, remembering sunrises that flattered mountains, kissed green meadows, and turned streams to gold. But those perfect beginnings could be spoiled in an instant when the lowest clouds crossed the sun's face and hid it from the world. Then he turns to his own life: his personal sun—someone he loved—once shone on him with triumphant splendor, but within an hour a cloud masked it. That loss stings, yet the feeling that dominates is not anger. He says his love "no whit disdaineth" the one who let him down, because if even heaven's sun can be stained, how can he resent a human being for the same fault? The poem holds a gentle, forgiving sadness, the kind that comes when you love someone enough to accept their shadows.
Sonnet 33: Full many a glorious morning have I seen — Summary
Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: Even so my sun one early morn did shine, With all triumphant splendour on my brow; But out! alack! he was but one hour mine, The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.