William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

41. Sonnet Lxxiii 12/31/2002
42. Sonnet Lxxxv 5/21/2001
43. Sonnets To The Sundry Notes Of Music 3/30/2010
44. Sonnet Lxxi 12/31/2002
45. Sonnet Viii 5/21/2001
46. The Procreation Sonnets (1 - 17) 3/29/2010
47. Sonnet Xli 5/21/2001
48. Sonnet Liii 5/21/2001
49. Sonnet Xliv 5/21/2001
50. Sonnet Lxxxvi 5/21/2001
51. Sonnet Lxx 12/31/2002
52. Sonnet Lxxviii 5/21/2001
53. Sonnet Lviii 5/21/2001
54. Sonnet Xlviii 5/21/2001
55. Sonnets Xx 1/4/2003
56. Sonnet Lxiii 5/21/2001
57. From The Rape Of Lucrece 4/17/2015
58. Sonnet Vi 5/21/2001
59. Sonnets Xvi 1/4/2003
60. Sonnet Lv 5/21/2001
61. Sonnet Lxxix 12/31/2002
62. Sonnet Lxxxiii 5/21/2001
63. Sonnet Xvii 5/21/2001
64. Sonnet Lxxxi 5/21/2001
65. Sonnet Lxii 5/21/2001
66. Sonnet Cxxxiv 5/18/2001
67. Sonnet Xi 5/21/2001
68. Sonnet Xciii 5/21/2001
69. Sonnets Xix: Devouring Time, Blunt Thou The Lion's Paws 1/1/2004
70. Sonnet Xvi 5/21/2001
71. Sonnet Xlii 5/21/2001
72. Sonnet Xxiii 5/21/2001
73. Sonnet V: Those Hours, That With Gentle Work Did Frame 1/3/2003
74. Sonnet Xxii 5/21/2001
75. Sonnet Lxxxix 5/21/2001
76. Sonnets Liii: What Is Your Substance, Whereof Are You Made 1/1/2004
77. Sonnet Iv: Unthrifty Loveliness, Why Dost Thou Spend 1/3/2003
78. Sonnets Xv 1/4/2003
79. Sonnet Lxxxvii 5/21/2001
80. Sonnet Xcvi 5/21/2001

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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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