William Shakespeare Sonnet Poems

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    02-Jun-2018

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  • 8/10/2019 William Shakespeare Sonnet Poems

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    William Shakespeare Poems

    Sonnet 29

    When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,I all alone beweep my outcast state,And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,And look upon myself and curse my fate,Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,With what I most enjoy contented least.Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,Haply I think on thee, and then my state,Like to the lark at break of day arisingFrom sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth bringsThat then I scorn to change my state with kings.

    Sonnet 73

    That time of year thou mayst in me behold,When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hangUpon those boughs which shake against the cold,

    Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.In me thou seest the twilight of such day,As after sunset fadeth in the west,Which by and by black night doth take away,Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,As the death-bed whereon it must expire,Consumed with that which it was nourished by.This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

    Sonnet 66

    Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,As, to behold desert a beggar born,And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,And purest faith unhappily forsworn,And guilded honour shamefully misplaced,And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,And strength by limping sway disabled,And art made tongue-tied by authority,And folly doctor-like controlling skill,And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,And captive good attending captain ill:

    Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

    Sonnet 81

    Or I shall live your epitaph to make,Or you survive when I in earth am rotten,From hence your memory death cannot take,Although in me each part will be forgotten.Your name from hence immortal life shall have,

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    Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:The earth can yield me but a common grave,When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.Your monument shall be my gentle verse,Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read;And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse,When all the breathers of this world are dead;You still shall live, such virtue hath my pen,Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.

    Sonnet 17

    Who will believe my verse in time to come,If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tombWhich hides your life, and shows not half your parts.If I could write the beauty of your eyes,And in fresh numbers number all your graces,The age to come would say 'This poet lies;Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'So should my papers, yellow'd with their age,Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue,And your true rights be term'd a poet's rageAnd stretched metre of an antique song:

    But were some child of yours alive that time,You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme.

    Sonnet 30

    When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughtI summon up remembrance of things past,I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,And moan the expense of many a vanished sight:

    Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,And heavily from woe to woe tell o'erThe sad account of fore-bemoand moan,Which I new pay as if not paid before.But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,All losses are restored and sorrows end.