William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

1. The Procreation Sonnets (1 - 17) 3/29/2010
2. The Rival Poet Sonnets (78 - 86) 3/29/2010
3. Macbeth, Act IV, Scene I 8/9/2016
4. Sonnet Xii 5/21/2001
5. Sonnet Xlv 5/21/2001
6. Where The Bee Sucks (from The Tempest) 6/10/2015
7. Sonnet Xxiv 5/21/2001
8. Sonnet Lxxxvi 5/21/2001
9. Sonnet Xxxvii 5/21/2001
10. Sonnet Lxxvi 12/31/2002
11. Speech: "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow" 7/20/2016
12. Sonnet Xci 5/21/2001
13. Sonnet Xcviii 5/21/2001
14. Sonnet Lviii 5/21/2001
15. Sonnets Xxv: Let Those Who Are In Favour With Their Stars 1/1/2004
16. Sonnet Lxi 5/21/2001
17. Sonnet Lxiii 5/21/2001
18. Sonnet Lxii 5/21/2001
19. Sonnet Xiv 5/21/2001
20. Sonnet Xcv 5/21/2001
21. Sonnets To The Sundry Notes Of Music 3/30/2010
22. Sonnet Lxxxviii 5/21/2001
23. Sonnet Xlix 5/21/2001
24. Sonnets Xiv 1/4/2003
25. Sonnet Lvi 5/21/2001
26. Some Say That Ever ‘Gainst That Season Comes (Hamlet, Act I, Scene I) 6/3/2015
27. Sonnets Vi 1/4/2003
28. Song of the Witches: "Double, double toil and trouble" 11/20/2015
29. From The Rape Of Lucrece 4/17/2015
30. Sonnet Lxxx 5/21/2001
31. Sonnet Lvii 5/21/2001
32. Sonnet X 5/21/2001
33. Sonnet Lix 5/21/2001
34. Sonnet Xxxiii 5/21/2001
35. Sonnet Xli 5/21/2001
36. Sonnet Lxxxi 5/21/2001
37. Sonnet Xl 5/21/2001
38. Sonnets Iv 1/4/2003
39. Sonnet Xc 5/21/2001
40. Sonnet Xiii 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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