I first read Shakespeare's sonnet sequence as an undergraduate, wavering between eagerness for critical analysis and a wide-eyed romanticism nurtured by recent exposure to Keats and Swinburne. Now, years later, I suspect that little has changed, although I did, perhaps, snort rather more loudly in derision at the poet's painfully transparent attempts at seduction in the early sonnets (through preying on his lady's insecurities about ageing and death).
I'm also more willing to admit, this time around, that Shakespeare's sonnet-writing displays wide variations in quality: some are soaringly beautiful, others trite and unremarkable. I enjoyed revisiting such old favourites as Sonnet 18 and Sonnet 116, and rediscovering some other excellent selections, including Sonnets 36 and 138. Ultimately, however, nothing comes close to the tender, melancholic beauty of Sonnet 73; in this collection, Shakespeare's genius is epitomised in the line "bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang", which knocks the breath out of me every single time I read it, and singlehandedly makes this a volume to treasure.