8/13/2019 Shakespearean Sonnets + Others

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Shakespearean Sonnets (3 of 154)

18Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?Thou art more lovely and more temperate:Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,And summer's lease hath all too short a date:Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;And every fair from fair sometime declines,By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

19Devouring 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,And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,

And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,To the wide world and all her fading sweets;But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,

Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;Him in thy course untainted do allowFor beauty's pattern to succeeding men.

Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,My love shall in my verse ever live young.

50How heavy do I journey on the way,When what I seek, my weary travel's end,Doth teach that ease and that repose to say'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!'The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,As if by some instinct the wretch did knowHis rider loved not speed, being made from thee:The bloody spur cannot provoke him onThat sometimes anger thrusts into his hide;Which heavily he answers with a groan,More sharp to me than spurring to his side;

For that same groan doth put this in my mind;

My grief lies onward and my joy behind.

8/13/2019 Shakespearean Sonnets + Others

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Sonnets from the Portuguese , #43 (1850)By Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of Being and ideal Grace.I love thee to the level of everyday'sMost quiet need, by sun and candle-light.I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.I love thee with the passion put to useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints!---I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life!---and, if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.

Sonnets from the Singlish (2012)By Philip Ip

k ge zhi wang attends a poetry reading.hes bored. they really are just reading poems.the titles not the slightest bit misleading.wheres the performance? he wants to go home.

in karaoke, in his element,originals are shunned. one is expectedto perform the standards before vent-uring into new tunes. its called respect:

to the k gods, who echo in the ether;

to captive audiences who retainthe option to join in at the refrain.he has the following feedback for the reader:

read me familiar stories, stanzas, quotes -nobody wants to hear what you just wrote.