William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

1. Some Say That Ever ‘Gainst That Season Comes (Hamlet, Act I, Scene I) 6/3/2015
2. Where The Bee Sucks (from The Tempest) 6/10/2015
3. Sonnet Lix 5/21/2001
4. Sonnet Xxv 5/21/2001
5. Sonnet Xcviii 5/21/2001
6. Sonnet Xcix 5/21/2001
7. The Canakin Clink Pub Song (From 'Othello') 2/4/2015
8. The Rival Poet Sonnets (78 - 86) 3/29/2010
9. Sonnet Xiii 5/21/2001
10. From The Rape Of Lucrece 4/17/2015
11. Sonnet Xxiii 5/21/2001
12. Sonnet Xxii 5/21/2001
13. Sonnet Lxi 5/21/2001
14. Sonnet Xcv 5/21/2001
15. Sonnet Liii 5/21/2001
16. Sonnet Lxxxvii 5/21/2001
17. Sonnet Xliv 5/21/2001
18. Sonnet Lxxvi 12/31/2002
19. Sonnet Xxxvii 5/21/2001
20. Sonnet Cxxxv 5/18/2001
21. Sonnet Lxxxvi 5/21/2001
22. Sonnet Lviii 5/21/2001
23. Sonnet Cxxxiii 5/18/2001
24. Sonnets Xiii 1/4/2003
25. Sonnet Xlviii 5/21/2001
26. Sonnet Xxiv 5/21/2001
27. Sonnet Xxviii 5/21/2001
28. Sonnet Cxxxii 5/18/2001
29. Sonnets Xvi 1/4/2003
30. Sonnet Lv 5/21/2001
31. Sonnet Xvii 5/21/2001
32. The Procreation Sonnets (1 - 17) 3/29/2010
33. Sonnet Xciii 5/21/2001
34. Sonnet Xi 5/21/2001
35. Sonnet Lxii 5/21/2001
36. Sonnet Lxix 5/21/2001
37. Sonnet Cxxxiv 5/18/2001
38. Sonnets To The Sundry Notes Of Music 3/30/2010
39. Sonnet Ix 5/21/2001
40. Sonnet Xlvi 5/21/2001
Best Poem of William Shakespeare

All The World's A Stage

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in ...

Read the full of All The World's A Stage

Sonnet Li

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?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O, what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;
In winged speed no motion shall I know:
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;

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