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

  • lilly (2/20/2018 8:36:00 AM)

    shakespeare rocks

    17 person liked.
    3 person did not like.
  • fbccghd (2/20/2018 8:33:00 AM)

    bgffzdtheeeeeeeeeghhjjklil; io; [pcrewqe\ BVWEWVWARYSEBNU

  • theruby (2/20/2018 8:30:00 AM)

    I think willliam shakespere was a GENIUS he was amazing and has inspiered me to be a writer so I can write my own books

  • Amolkumar chavhan (2/16/2018 9:30:00 AM)

    Impressive poem

  • Fahmida Tamanna (2/14/2018 10:14:00 PM)

    major by major

  • donald trump (2/11/2018 7:22:00 AM)

    me go boom boom me go boom boom

  • Poem Hunter (2/10/2018 2:49:00 AM)


  • fyfvn jm, mn, nm (2/8/2018 10:12:00 PM)

    kbjkk jn jn jnm jhnm lnkm lkm bknmvkjvkjvhjnjk, mmk jn kyujn

  • a school student (2/6/2018 11:24:00 AM)

    well i have a presentation about poems and like fr i am in class rn and I am not gonna do this shit like oh ma gawd

  • 9uytrfdefvghjkl (2/5/2018 3:51:00 PM)

    iyutjuhyswrgdfhtgyjkuiop; 0o9i67u5yt4rghyui9o0p'-0o98y7u6t5r4gfhyjukilo; p'0o9pppppooooooooooo00000

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]