William Shakespeare Poems

  • 201.  
    Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
    Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport; Both grace and faults are loved of more and less;
  • 202.  
    THY bosom is endeared with all hearts
    Which I, by lacking, have supposed dead: And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts,
  • 203.  
    When I do count the clock that tells the time,
    And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime,
  • 204.  
    When icicles hang by the wall
    And Dick the shepherd blows his nail And Tom bears logs into the hall,
  • 205.  
    Those petty wrongs that liberty commits,
    When I am sometime absent from thy heart, Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,
  • 206.  
    If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near,
    Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will,' And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;
  • 207.  
    Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
    Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
  • 208.  
    Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
    And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
  • 209.  
    As a decrepit father takes delight
    To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
  • 210.  
    My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
    Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
  • 211.  
    Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,
    And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy,
  • 212.  
    That time of year thou mayst in me behold
    When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
  • 213.  
    The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
    Is lust in action; and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
  • 214.  
    That time of year thou mayst in me behold,
    When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
  • 215.  
    A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
    Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion; A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
  • 216.  
    My love is as a fever, longing still
    For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
  • 217.  
    Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
    Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents
  • 218.  
    Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
    Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
  • 219.  
    That god forbid that made me first your slave,
    I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,
  • 220.  
    So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
    And found such fair assistance in my verse As every alien pen hath got my use
  • 221.  
    But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
    For term of life thou art assured mine, And life no longer than thy love will stay,
  • 222.  
    My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
    Coral is far more red than her lips' red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
  • 223.  
    How can my muse want subject to invent,
    While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
  • 224.  
    Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you,
    Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery? Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true,
  • 225.  
    Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all
    Wherein I should your great deserts repay, Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
  • 226.  
    From fairest creatures we desire increase,
    That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease,
  • 227.  
    LET me not to the marriage of true minds
    Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds,
  • 228.  
    How careful was I, when I took my way,
    Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, That to my use it might unusèd stay
  • 229.  
    FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessing,
    And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
  • 230.  
    When daisies pied, and violets blue,
    And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
  • 231.  
    Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye,
    That thou consum'st thy self in single life? Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
  • 232.  
    BEING your slave, what should I do but tend
    Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend,
  • 233.  
    When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
    I all alone beweep my outcast state And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
  • 234.  
    The little Love-god lying once asleep
    Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep
  • 235.  
    Let me confess that we two must be twain,
    Although our undivided loves are one; So shall those blots that do with me remain,
  • 236.  
    How can I then return in happy plight,
    That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eased by night,
  • 237.  
    What is your substance, whereof are you made,
    That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since everyone hath, everyone, one shade,
  • 238.  
    That god forbid, that made me first your slave,
    I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave,
  • 239.  
    Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
    Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
  • 240.  
    Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
    Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
  • 241.  
    O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
    With insufficiency my heart to sway? To make me give the lie to my true sight,
  • 242.  
    HOW like a Winter hath my absence been
    From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen,
  • 243.  
    Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
    As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
  • 244.  
    Let those who are in favour with their stars
    Of public honour and proud titles boast, Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
  • 245.  
    If there be nothing new, but that which is
    Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, Which, labouring for invention bear amis
  • 246.  
    O, that you were your self! But, love, you are
    No longer yours than you yourself here live. Against this coming end you should prepare,
  • 247.  
    When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
    And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
  • 248.  
    How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
    Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
  • 249.  
    Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
    With my extern the outward honouring, Or laid great bases for eternity,
  • 250.  
    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,
Total 667 poems written by William Shakespeare

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As I went walking up and down to take the evening air,
(Sweet to meet upon the street, why must I be so shy?)
I saw him lay his hand upon her torn black hair;
(”Little dirty Latin child, let the lady by!”)

The women squatting on the stoops were slovenly and fat,
(Lay me out in organdie, lay me out in lawn!)
And everywhere I stepped there was a baby or a cat;
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