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

  • Xxxtentacion (5/14/2018 8:20:00 PM)

    this comment section

    12 person liked.
    5 person did not like.
  • I am WIlcat''s biggest fan (5/13/2018 8:46:00 PM)

    banni puncake is my favourite poem

  • big daddy (5/10/2018 10:51:00 AM)

    hay gggggggggggggggggggaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

  • gfisdbfudui (5/10/2018 10:50:00 AM)

    fgudfukdhgigdfj, krsduygfuidjkfgsdjkgfuhbdugjsd8gdjtfud

  • shgfdfgdjkg (5/10/2018 10:49:00 AM)

    fhiudhsgfkehglhfkgh

  • A PERSON (5/8/2018 1:40:00 PM)

    ewww NGV GDF BN N

  • fok die kak (5/7/2018 2:32:00 PM)

    hate this kak. so f ucking. much

  • Raymond Zhang (5/7/2018 12:45:00 AM)

    Suck my huge, massive and delicious and you will be granted my school adress and home, my name is Raymond Zhang and secretly I am a g@y.

  • Raymond Zhang (5/7/2018 12:43:00 AM)

    Suck my huge, massive and delicious and you will be granted my school address and home.

  • wesburt weszaer (5/5/2018 12:09:00 PM)

    I real like poems written by shakespear

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 Li

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed:
From where thou art why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O, what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;
In winged speed no motion shall I know:
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;

[Report Error]