William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

41. Sonnets Iii 1/4/2003
42. Sonnet Xcv 5/21/2001
43. Sonnet Lxxxv 5/21/2001
44. Sonnet Lxxxix 5/21/2001
45. Sonnets Xix: Devouring Time, Blunt Thou The Lion's Paws 1/1/2004
46. Sonnets To The Sundry Notes Of Music 3/30/2010
47. Sonnets Xvi 1/4/2003
48. Some Say That Ever ‘Gainst That Season Comes (Hamlet, Act I, Scene I) 6/3/2015
49. Sonnet Lxxxvi 5/21/2001
50. Sonnet Lxxviii 5/21/2001
51. Sonnet Xlviii 5/21/2001
52. Sonnets Xx 1/4/2003
53. Sonnets Xxv: Let Those Who Are In Favour With Their Stars 1/1/2004
54. Sonnet Xxxiii 5/21/2001
55. Sonnet Vi 5/21/2001
56. Sonnet Lvi 5/21/2001
57. Sonnet Xvii 5/21/2001
58. Sonnet Lxxxiii 5/21/2001
59. Sonnet Lxix 5/21/2001
60. Sonnet Cxxxiv 5/18/2001
61. Sonnet Lxxiii 12/31/2002
62. Sonnet Xciii 5/21/2001
63. Sonnet Lviii 5/21/2001
64. Sonnet Xvi 5/21/2001
65. Sonnet Xlii 5/21/2001
66. Sonnet Xxiii 5/21/2001
67. Sonnet Xxii 5/21/2001
68. Sonnet V: Those Hours, That With Gentle Work Did Frame 1/3/2003
69. Sonnet Lxxxiv 5/21/2001
70. Sonnet Lxiii 5/21/2001
71. Sonnet Lxxi 12/31/2002
72. Sonnets Vi 1/4/2003
73. Sonnet Lxx 12/31/2002
74. Sonnet Xliii 5/21/2001
75. Sonnet Lvii 5/21/2001
76. Sonnet Xcvi 5/21/2001
77. Sonnet Lix 5/21/2001
78. Sonnet Lxxii 12/31/2002
79. Sonnet Cxxxix 5/18/2001
80. Sonnet 7: “lo In The Orient When The Gracious Light…” 3/30/2010
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 Cviii

What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must, each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case

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