Poet William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare Poems

  • 301.  
    O never say that I was false of heart,
    Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify:As easy might I from myself depart
  • 302.  
    Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
    Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force, Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,
  • 303.  
    Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
    When I against myself with thee partake? Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
  • 304.  
    Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
    [ ] these rebel powers that thee array; Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
  • 305.  
    That you were once unkind befriends me now,
    And for that sorrow which I then did feel Needs must I under my transgression bow,
  • 306.  
    Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
    So far from variation or quick change? Why with the time do I not glance aside
  • 307.  
    If thou survive my well-contented day,
    When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
  • 308.  
    Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
    Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
  • 309.  
  • 310.  
    story from a sistering vale,
    My spirits to attend this double voice accorded, And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
  • 311.  
  • 312.  
  • 313.  
    Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
    The dear respose for limbs with travel tirèd; But then begins a journey in my head
  • 314.  
    Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,
    Men were deceivers ever; One foot in sea, and one on shore,
  • 315.  
    When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
    And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
  • 316.  
    Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
    Now is the time that face should form another; Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
  • 317.  
    Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
    Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste; These vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
  • 318.  
    Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there,
    And made myself a motley to the view, Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
  • 319.  
    IT was a lording's daughter, the fairest one of three, That liked of her master as well as well might be,
  • 320.  
    Against my love shall be, as I am now,
    With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn; When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow
  • 321.  
    Your love and pity doth th' impression fill
    Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow; For what care I who calls me well or ill,
  • 322.  
    Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there
    And made myself a motley to the view, Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
  • 323.  
    Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
    My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; Lest sorrow lend me words and words express
  • 324.  
    Who will believe my verse in time to come
    If it were filled with your most high deserts? Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
  • 325.  
    Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
    To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
  • 326.  
    Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
    Which I by lacking have supposed dead, And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
  • 327.  
    Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
    And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
  • 328.  
    When in the chronicle of wasted time
    I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
  • 329.  
    Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd
    Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
  • 330.  
    Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
    Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy? Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
  • 331.  
    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,
  • 332.  
    So is it not with me as with that Muse
    Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
  • 333.  
    To be, or not to be: that is the question:
    Whether â??tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
  • 334.  
    So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
    Like a deceived husband; so love's face May still seem love to me, though altered new;
  • 335.  
    When thou shalt be disposed to set me light
    And place my merit in the eye of scorn, Upon thy side, against myself I'll fight,
  • 336.  
    My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
    While comments of your praise, richly compiled, Reserve their character with golden quill,
  • 337.  
    How can I then return in happy plight
    That am debarred the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eased by night,
  • 338.  
    In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
    For they in thee a thousand errors note; But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
  • 339.  
    Ah, wherefore with infection should he live,
    And with his presence grace impiety, That sin by him advantage should achieve,
  • 340.  
    Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
    Or you survive when I in earth am rotten, From hence your memory death cannot take,
  • 341.  
    Is it thy will thy image should keep open
    My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
  • 342.  
    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,
  • 343.  
    In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn,
    But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing, In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn,
  • 344.  
    My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming;
    I love not less, though less the show appear: That love is merchandized whose rich esteeming
  • 345.  
    Those lips that Love's own hand did make
    Breathed forth the sound that said "I hate" To me that languished for her sake;
  • 346.  
    From fairest creatures we desire increase,
    That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease,
  • 347.  
    When I consider everything that grows
    Holds in perfection but a little moment, That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
  • 348.  
    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;
  • 349.  
    What's in the brain that ink may character
    Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit? What's new to speak, what now to register,
  • 350.  
    Fear no more the heat o' the sun;
    Nor the furious winter's rages, Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Total 513 poems written by William Shakespeare

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Blue And White
 by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

BLUE is Our Lady—s colour,
White is Our Lord—s.
To-morrow I will wear a knot
Of blue and white cords,
That you may see it, where you ride
Among the flashing swords.

O banner, white and sunny blue,

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