William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

281. Sonnet Lxxii 12/31/2002
282. Sonnet Lxxiii 12/31/2002
283. Sonnet Lxxiv 12/31/2002
284. Sonnet Lxxix 12/31/2002
285. Sonnet Lxxv 12/31/2002
286. Sonnet Lxxvi 12/31/2002
287. Sonnet Lxxvii 12/31/2002
288. Sonnet Lxxviii 5/21/2001
289. Sonnet Lxxx 5/21/2001
290. Sonnet Lxxxi 5/21/2001
291. Sonnet Lxxxii 5/21/2001
292. Sonnet Lxxxiii 5/21/2001
293. Sonnet Lxxxiv 5/21/2001
294. Sonnet Lxxxix 5/21/2001
295. Sonnet Lxxxv 5/21/2001
296. Sonnet Lxxxvi 5/21/2001
297. Sonnet Lxxxvii 5/21/2001
298. Sonnet Lxxxviii 5/21/2001
299. Sonnet V: Those Hours, That With Gentle Work Did Frame 1/3/2003
300. Sonnet Vi 5/21/2001
301. Sonnet Vii 5/21/2001
302. Sonnet Viii 5/21/2001
303. Sonnet X 5/21/2001
304. Sonnet Xc 5/21/2001
305. Sonnet Xci 5/21/2001
306. Sonnet Xciii 5/21/2001
307. Sonnet Xciv: They That Have Power To Hurt And Will Do None 1/3/2003
308. Sonnet Xcix 5/21/2001
309. Sonnet Xcv 5/21/2001
310. Sonnet Xcvi 5/21/2001
311. Sonnet Xcvii 5/21/2001
312. Sonnet Xcviii 5/21/2001
313. Sonnet Xi 5/21/2001
314. Sonnet Xii 5/21/2001
315. Sonnet Xiii 5/21/2001
316. Sonnet Xiv 5/21/2001
317. Sonnet Xix: Devouring Time, Blunt Thou The Lion's Paws 1/3/2003
318. Sonnet Xl 5/21/2001
319. Sonnet Xli 5/21/2001
320. Sonnet Xlii 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 Lxxvii

Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
And of this book this learning mayst thou taste.
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory;
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
Look, what thy memory can not contain

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