William Shakespeare Poems

Hit Title Date Added
101.
Sonnet 123: No, Time, Thou Shalt Not Boast That I Do Change

No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change.
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
...

102.
Sonnet 107: Not Mine Own Fears, Nor The Prophetic Soul

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
...

103.
Now, My Co-Mates And Brothers In Exile

Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile,
Hath not old customs make this life more sweet
...

104.
Sonnet 112: Your Love And Pity Doth Th' Impression Fill

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,
So you o'ergreen my bad, my good allow?
...

105.
Sonnet 2: When Forty Winters Shall Besiege Thy Brow

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,
Will be a tattered weed of small worth held.
...

106.
Sonnet 1:

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
...

107.
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,
...

108.
Sonnet 49: Against That Time, If Ever That Time Come

Against that time, if ever that time come,
When I shall see thee frown on my defects,
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
Called to that audit by advised respects;
...

109.
Sonnet 150: O From What Power Hast Thou This Powerful Might

O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
...

110.
The Phoenix And The Turtle

Let the bird of loudest lay,
On the sole Arabian tree,
Herald sad and trumpet be,
To whose sound chaste wings obey.
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