William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

41. Sonnet Xxxvi 5/21/2001
42. Sonnets Iii 1/4/2003
43. Sonnet Lxxiii 12/31/2002
44. Sonnet Lxxxv 5/21/2001
45. Sonnets Xix: Devouring Time, Blunt Thou The Lion's Paws 1/1/2004
46. Sonnet Xcviii 5/21/2001
47. Sonnet Viii 5/21/2001
48. Where The Bee Sucks (from The Tempest) 6/10/2015
49. Sonnet Liii 5/21/2001
50. Speech: "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears" 10/22/2015
51. Sonnet Xliv 5/21/2001
52. Sonnet Lxxix 12/31/2002
53. William Shakespeare Epitaph 10/20/2015
54. Sonnet Lxx 12/31/2002
55. Sonnets To The Sundry Notes Of Music 3/30/2010
56. Sonnet Xlviii 5/21/2001
57. Sonnets Xx 1/4/2003
58. Sonnet Lxxviii 5/21/2001
59. Sonnet Xxxiii 5/21/2001
60. Sonnet Lix 5/21/2001
61. Sonnet Vi 5/21/2001
62. Sonnets Xvi 1/4/2003
63. Sonnet Lv 5/21/2001
64. Sonnet Lxxxiii 5/21/2001
65. Sonnet Xvii 5/21/2001
66. Sonnet X 5/21/2001
67. Sonnet Cxxxiv 5/18/2001
68. Sonnet Xi 5/21/2001
69. Sonnet Xciii 5/21/2001
70. Sonnet Xvi 5/21/2001
71. Sonnet Xlvi 5/21/2001
72. Sonnets Liii: What Is Your Substance, Whereof Are You Made 1/1/2004
73. Sonnet Xlii 5/21/2001
74. Sonnet V: Those Hours, That With Gentle Work Did Frame 1/3/2003
75. Sonnet Xxii 5/21/2001
76. Sonnet Lxxxix 5/21/2001
77. Sonnet Lxxii 12/31/2002
78. Sonnet Iv: Unthrifty Loveliness, Why Dost Thou Spend 1/3/2003
79. Sonnets Xv 1/4/2003
80. Now The Hungry Lion Roars 3/2/2015
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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