William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

41. Sonnets Iii 1/4/2003
42. Sonnets Vi 1/4/2003
43. Sonnet Xcv 5/21/2001
44. Sonnet Lxxiii 12/31/2002
45. Sonnet Lxxxv 5/21/2001
46. Sonnets Xix: Devouring Time, Blunt Thou The Lion's Paws 1/1/2004
47. Sonnet Xxxix 5/21/2001
48. Sonnet Xl 5/21/2001
49. Sonnets Iv 1/4/2003
50. Sonnet Liii 5/21/2001
51. Sonnet Xiv 5/21/2001
52. Sonnet Xxxvii 5/21/2001
53. Sonnet Xliv 5/21/2001
54. Sonnet Lxxix 12/31/2002
55. Sonnet Lxx 12/31/2002
56. Sonnet Lxxxviii 5/21/2001
57. Sonnet Xlviii 5/21/2001
58. Sonnets Xx 1/4/2003
59. Sonnet Lxxviii 5/21/2001
60. Sonnet Lxxii 12/31/2002
61. Sonnet Xcix 5/21/2001
62. Sonnets Xvi 1/4/2003
63. Sonnet Lv 5/21/2001
64. Sonnet Xc 5/21/2001
65. Sonnet Lxxxiii 5/21/2001
66. The Passionate Pilgrim 3/29/2010
67. Sonnet Lxxxvii 5/21/2001
68. Sonnet Lxxxix 5/21/2001
69. Sonnet Xciii 5/21/2001
70. Sonnet X 5/21/2001
71. Sonnet Xlvi 5/21/2001
72. Sonnets Liii: What Is Your Substance, Whereof Are You Made 1/1/2004
73. Sonnet Xlii 5/21/2001
74. Sonnet Xxiii 5/21/2001
75. Sonnet Lxxxiv 5/21/2001
76. Sonnet Xxii 5/21/2001
77. The Dark Lady Sonnets (127 - 154) 3/29/2010
78. Sonnet Xcvi 5/21/2001
79. Sonnet 7: “lo In The Orient When The Gracious Light…” 3/30/2010
80. Sonnet Cxxxix 5/18/2001
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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