Poet William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare Poems

  • 451.  
    Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
    Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents
  • 452.  
    My love is as a fever, longing still
    For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
  • 453.  
    A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
    Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
  • 454.  
    That time of year thou mayst in me behold,
    When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
  • 455.  
    The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
    Is lust in action; and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
  • 456.  
    That time of year thou mayst in me behold
    When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
  • 457.  
    Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,
    And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy,
  • 458.  
    My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
    Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
  • 459.  
    As a decrepit father takes delight
    To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
  • 460.  
    Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
    And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
  • 461.  
    Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
    Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
  • 462.  
    If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near,
    Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will,' And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;
  • 463.  
    Those petty wrongs that liberty commits,
    When I am sometime absent from thy heart, Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,
  • 464.  
    When icicles hang by the wall
    And Dick the shepherd blows his nail And Tom bears logs into the hall,
  • 465.  
    When I do count the clock that tells the time,
    And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime,
  • 466.  
    THY bosom is endeared with all hearts
    Which I, by lacking, have supposed dead: And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts,
  • 467.  
    Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
    Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport; Both grace and faults are loved of more and less;
  • 468.  
    That time of year thou mayst in me behold
    When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
  • 469.  
    That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
    And yet it may be said I loved her dearly; That she hath thee is of my wailing chief,
  • 470.  
    Against that time, if ever that time come,
    When I shall see thee frown on my defects, When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
  • 471.  
    For shame, deny that thou bear'st love to any
    Who for thy self art so unprovident. Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
  • 472.  
    Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
    The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head,
  • 473.  
    No more be grieved at that which thou hast done.
    Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud, Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
  • 474.  
    Let those who are in favour with their stars
    Of public honour and proud titles boast, Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
  • 475.  
    When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
    I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
  • 476.  
    Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
    How to divide the conquest of thy sight; Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar,
  • 477.  
    To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
    For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
  • 478.  
    O, how I faint when I of you do write,
    Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might
  • 479.  
    WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
    But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work to-day!
  • 480.  
    The forward violet thus did I chide:
    Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
  • 481.  
    TH' expense of Spirit in a waste of shame
    Is lust in action; and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
  • 482.  
    O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
    When thou art all the better part of me? What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?
  • 483.  
    Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
    Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed: From where thou art why should I haste me thence?
  • 484.  
    All the world's a stage,
    And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances,
  • 485.  
    Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled
    Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
  • 486.  
    Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
    And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
  • 487.  
    So am I as the rich whose blessèd key
    Can bring him to his sweet up-lockèd treasure, The which he will not every hour survey,
  • 488.  
    As an unperfect actor on the stage
    Who with his fear is put beside his part, Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
  • 489.  
    No longer mourn for me when I am dead
    Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled
  • 490.  
    How can my muse want subject to invent,
    While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
  • 491.  
    So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
    Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground; And for the peace of you I hold such strife
  • 492.  
    Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch
    One of her feather'd creatures broke away, Sets down her babe and makes an swift dispatch
  • 493.  
    Farewell! Thou art too dear for my possessing,
    And like enough thou know'st thy estimate, The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
  • 494.  
    Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
    Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
  • 495.  
    Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
    As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
  • 496.  
    'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd,
    When not to be receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost which is so deem'd
  • 497.  
    THEY that have power to hurt and will do none,
    That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
  • 498.  
    So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
    Like a deceived husband; so love's face May still seem love to me, though alter'd new;
  • 499.  
    That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
    For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect,
  • 500.  
    When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
    The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed
Total 513 poems written by William Shakespeare

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