William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

401. Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day? (Sonnet 18) 1/20/2003
402. A Fairy Song 1/3/2003
403. All The World's A Stage 1/20/2003

Comments about William Shakespeare

  • jonny (5/29/2018 1:12:00 PM)

    i'm learning about william shakespeare in high school it is sooooo boring

    2 person liked.
    8 person did not like.
  • AR GAMING (5/28/2018 6:59:00 AM)

    I liked ur poems they may be hard to understand at first as they were written in the 17th century and today is the 21st century XD

  • Stephen weller (5/25/2018 5:57:00 AM)

    good blah blah blha

  • What are those! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! (5/23/2018 1:21:00 PM)

    Never mind

  • Wwwww (5/23/2018 1:20:00 PM)

    Never mind

  • What are those! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! (5/23/2018 1:17:00 PM)

    What about the Odyssey

  • Momba (5/22/2018 2:45:00 PM)



  • booboo whine (5/22/2018 11:35:00 AM)

    does any bodi lik cheeeeeeeeeeeeeesssssssssssssssseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee (plz answer back)

  • Ashoka (5/19/2018 1:15:00 AM)

    who is william spearshake?

  • HELLO (5/16/2018 1:30:00 AM)

    to all the english students out there
    give me a HELLO THERE in the comments

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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