William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

41. Sonnet Lxxii 12/31/2002
42. Sonnet Cxxxix 5/18/2001
43. Sonnet Xcix 5/21/2001
44. Sonnet Lxxi 12/31/2002
45. Sonnets Iv 1/4/2003
46. Sonnets Ii 1/4/2003
47. Sonnet Xcv 5/21/2001
48. The Dark Lady Sonnets (127 - 154) 3/29/2010
49. Sonnet Liii 5/21/2001
50. Sonnet Cxxxv 5/18/2001
51. Sonnets Iii 1/4/2003
52. Sonnet Lxxiii 12/31/2002
53. Now The Hungry Lion Roars 3/2/2015
54. Sonnet Lxxxv 5/21/2001
55. Sonnet Lxxxix 5/21/2001
56. Sonnet Xlvii 5/21/2001
57. Sonnets Xix: Devouring Time, Blunt Thou The Lion's Paws 1/1/2004
58. Sonnet Xxxv 5/21/2001
59. Sonnet Xiv 5/21/2001
60. Sonnet Xix: Devouring Time, Blunt Thou The Lion's Paws 1/3/2003
61. Sonnet Xi 5/21/2001
62. Sonnets Xiv 1/4/2003
63. Sonnet V: Those Hours, That With Gentle Work Did Frame 1/3/2003
64. Sonnet Xii 5/21/2001
65. Sonnet Lv 5/21/2001
66. Sonnet Cxxxvii 5/18/2001
67. Sonnet Lxxxvi 5/21/2001
68. Sonnet Lxxvi 12/31/2002
69. Sonnet Lxxix 12/31/2002
70. Sonnet Xxxii: If Thou Survive My Well-Contented Day 1/3/2003
71. Sonnet Lxx 12/31/2002
72. Sonnet Xvii 5/21/2001
73. Sonnet Lxi 5/21/2001
74. Sonnet Viii 5/21/2001
75. Sonnet Lvii 5/21/2001
76. Sonnet Xlviii 5/21/2001
77. Sonnets Xx 1/4/2003
78. Sonnet Cxxxiv 5/18/2001
79. Sonnet Lxix 5/21/2001
80. Sonnet Xxii 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 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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