|
|
| |
Sonnet 66: Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
|
|
|
| |
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disablèd
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled 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.
William Shakespeare
Read poems about / on: strength, faith, truth, alone, death, love, sonnet
|
|
User Rating: |
|
8.4
/10
(7 votes) |
|
|
|
|
| |
| Comments about this poem (Sonnet 66: Tired with all these, for restful death I cry by William Shakespeare) |
more comments >>
|
Click here to write your comments about this poem (Sonnet 66: Tired with all these, for restful death I cry by William Shakespeare)
Egal Bohen (10/19/2007 6:32:00 PM)
Each word here hearkens from the past
Each word here speaks of bitter winters blast
Of England in Elizabethan cloak, and yet
Of life, of death invited, e'en invoked
Where all of consequence time ordered should be broke
Save love alone for one, for whom these words he wrote |
|
|
|
|
William Shakespeare
Free
Poetry E-Book:
E-mail this poem to e friend