William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

41. Sonnet Xc 5/21/2001
42. Sonnet Lxxxviii 5/21/2001
43. Sonnet Ix 5/21/2001
44. Sonnet Xlix 5/21/2001
45. Sonnets Xiv 1/4/2003
46. Sonnet Xxiv 5/21/2001
47. Sonnet Lxxxvi 5/21/2001
48. Sonnet Cxxxv 5/18/2001
49. The Passionate Pilgrim 3/29/2010
50. Sonnets Xv 1/4/2003
51. Sonnets X 1/4/2003
52. Sonnet Lxxx 5/21/2001
53. Sonnet Lvii 5/21/2001
54. Sonnets Xiii 1/4/2003
55. Sonnet Lviii 5/21/2001
56. Sonnet Xlviii 5/21/2001
57. Sonnets Xxv: Let Those Who Are In Favour With Their Stars 1/1/2004
58. Sonnet Xcvi 5/21/2001
59. Sonnet Xxiii 5/21/2001
60. Sonnet Xxxiii 5/21/2001
61. Sonnet Xli 5/21/2001
62. Sonnet Xxvii 5/21/2001
63. Sonnet Xl 5/21/2001
64. Sonnet Lxxii 12/31/2002
65. Sonnet Cxxxviii 5/18/2001
66. Sonnet Xxvi 5/21/2001
67. Sonnet Cxxxix 5/18/2001
68. Sonnet Lxxi 12/31/2002
69. Sonnets Iv 1/4/2003
70. Sonnets Ii 1/4/2003
71. Sonnet Lv 5/21/2001
72. Sonnet Lxi 5/21/2001
73. Helen's Soliloqy (All's Well That Ends Well) 3/3/2015
74. Sonnet Xxi 5/21/2001
75. Sonnets Iii 1/4/2003
76. Sonnet I: From Fairest Creatures We Desire Increase 1/3/2003
77. Sonnet Lxxiii 12/31/2002
78. Sonnet Lxxxv 5/21/2001
79. Sonnet Xlvii 5/21/2001
80. Sonnet Lxxxix 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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