William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

201. Sonnet Ci 5/18/2001
202. Sonnet Cii 5/18/2001
203. Sonnet Ciii 5/18/2001
204. Sonnet Civ 5/18/2001
205. Sonnet Cix 5/18/2001
206. Sonnet Cl 5/18/2001
207. Sonnet Cli 5/18/2001
208. Sonnet Clii 5/18/2001
209. Sonnet Cliii 5/18/2001
210. Sonnet Cliv 5/18/2001
211. Sonnet Cv 5/18/2001
212. Sonnet Cvi 5/18/2001
213. Sonnet Cvii 5/18/2001
214. Sonnet Cvii: Not Mine Own Fears, Nor The Prophetic Soul 1/3/2003
215. Sonnet Cviii 5/18/2001
216. Sonnet Cx 5/18/2001
217. Sonnet Cxi 5/18/2001
218. Sonnet Cxi: O, For My Sake Do You With Fortune Chide 1/3/2003
219. Sonnet Cxii 5/18/2001
220. Sonnet Cxiii 5/18/2001
221. Sonnet Cxiv 5/18/2001
222. Sonnet Cxix 5/18/2001
223. Sonnet Cxl 5/18/2001
224. Sonnet Cxli 5/18/2001
225. Sonnet Cxlii 5/18/2001
226. Sonnet Cxliii 5/18/2001
227. Sonnet Cxliv 5/18/2001
228. Sonnet Cxlix 5/18/2001
229. Sonnet Cxlv 5/18/2001
230. Sonnet Cxlvi 12/31/2002
231. Sonnet Cxlvii 5/18/2001
232. Sonnet Cxlviii 5/18/2001
233. Sonnet Cxv 5/18/2001
234. Sonnet Cxvi 5/18/2001
235. Sonnet Cxvi: Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds 1/3/2003
236. Sonnet Cxvii 5/18/2001
237. Sonnet Cxviii 5/18/2001
238. Sonnet Cxx 5/18/2001
239. Sonnet Cxxi 5/18/2001
240. Sonnet Cxxii 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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