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

  • nyomi dixon (2/28/2018 12:43:00 PM)

    the fairy song didn't make any sense but i liked it anyway plus i'm doing a poem on it in class today and by doing a poem on it i mean copy it on a piece of paper, read it to my class then give it to my teacher.

    13 person liked.
    18 person did not like.
  • anuradha (2/25/2018 3:08:00 AM)

    please accept me the way i am, i am, who i am, i may not be a person, you wants me to be, i may not do the things you wants me to do

  • Kundan Singh (2/24/2018 8:50:00 PM)


  • aaaaa at the gay (2/22/2018 4:13:00 PM)


  • Daddy (2/21/2018 11:52:00 AM)


  • JACK 2018 (2/20/2018 3:12:00 PM)

    William shakespeare's poetry was loved by everyone in those days and it still is...

  • ILUMINATI (2/20/2018 8:44:00 AM)

    CONFORMED! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

  • LUICIUS MALFOY (2/20/2018 8:42:00 AM)

    VOLDERMORT IS DEAD! ! ! ! ! ! !

  • lilly (2/20/2018 8:36:00 AM)

    shakespeare rocks

  • fbccghd (2/20/2018 8:33:00 AM)

    bgffzdtheeeeeeeeeghhjjklil; io; [pcrewqe\ BVWEWVWARYSEBNU

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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