William Shakespeare Poems

  • 401.  
    But wherefore do not you a mightier way
    Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? And fortify yourself in your decay
  • 402.  
    Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
    That having such a scope to show her pride, The argument all bare is of more worth
  • 403.  
    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,
  • 404.  
    Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
    And I will comment upon that offence;Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,
  • 405.  
    Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
    Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair,
  • 406.  
    Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
    The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,Will play the tyrants to the very same
  • 407.  
    Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
    So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before,
  • 408.  
    Devouring Time blunt thou the lion's paws,
    And make the earth devour her own sweet brood,Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
  • 409.  
    No longer mourn for me when I am dead
    Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled
  • 410.  
    WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time
    I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rime
  • 411.  
    Let me not to the marriage of true minds
    Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds,
  • 412.  
    Let not my love be call'd idolatry,
    Nor my beloved as an idol show, Since all alike my songs and praises be
  • 413.  
    O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
    The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide
  • 414.  
    Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
    In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
  • 415.  
    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!
  • 416.  
    Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
    Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,
  • 417.  
    Those lips that Love's own hand did make
    Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate' To me that languish'd for her sake;
  • 418.  
    They that have power to hurt and will do none,
    That do not do the thing, they most do show,Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
  • 419.  
    Why is my verse so barren of new pride?
    So far from variation or quick change?Why with the time do I not glance aside
  • 420.  
    TO me, fair friend, you never can be old;
    For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three Winters cold
  • 421.  
    Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie
    Which we ascribe to heaven. The fated skyGives us free scope, only doth backward pull
  • 422.  
    Over hill, over dale,
    Thorough bush, thorough brier,Over park, over pale,
  • 423.  
    Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
    Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
  • 424.  
    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,
  • 425.  
    Let me not to the marriage of true minds
    Admit impediments. Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,
  • 426.  
    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
  • 427.  
    Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck,
    And yet methinks I have astronomy—But not to tell of good or evil luck,
  • 428.  
    O NEVER say that I was false of heart,
    Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify! As easy might I from myself depart,
  • 429.  
    O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
    Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
  • 430.  
    WHEN, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
    I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
  • 431.  
    What is your substance, whereof are you made,
    That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
  • 432.  
    So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse,
    And found such fair assistance in my verseAs every alien pen hath got my use,
  • 433.  
    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!
  • 434.  
    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,
  • 435.  
    O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
    By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
  • 436.  
    POOR soul, the centre of my sinful earth--
    My sinful earth these rebel powers array-- Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
  • 437.  
    For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
    Who for thyself art so unprovident. Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
  • 438.  
    So, now I have confess'd that he is thine,
    And I myself am mortgaged to thy will, Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine
  • 439.  
    Those lips that Love's own hand did make
    Breath'd forth the sound that said I hateTo me that languish'd for her sake:
  • 440.  
    Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
    Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit;To thee I send this written embassage
  • 441.  
    Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
    [��] these rebel powers that thee array,Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
  • 442.  
    Your love and pity doth the impression fill
    Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow; For what care I who calls me well or ill,
  • 443.  
    Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits
    When I am sometime absent from thy heart,Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,
  • 444.  
    Not marble nor the gilded monuments
    Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme;But you shall shine more bright in these contents
  • 445.  
    THAT time of year thou may'st in me behold
    When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold--
  • 446.  
    Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
    And each doth good turns now unto the other: When that mine eye is famish'd for a look,
  • 447.  
    They that have power to hurt and will do none,
    That do not do the thing they most do show,Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
  • 448.  
    The quality of mercy is not strain'd.
    It droppeth as the gentle rain from heavenUpon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
  • 449.  
    Lo in the orient when the gracious light
    Lifts up his burning head, each under eyeDoth homage to his new-appearing sight,
  • 450.  
    Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
    Some in their wealth, some in their body's force,Some in their garments though new-fangled ill,
Total 667 poems written by William Shakespeare

Poem of the day

In The Grass.
 by Robert Crawford

'Tis as if I saw it all — sat now in the grass, and heard
The soft warm wind in my ears like the lilt of a lonely bird;
Sat now in the grasses so — saw, but said never a word.
The two of them in the wood, below me there by the rill;
He with the light on his brow, she in the shadow still;
And a cloud so white goes over the blue on the gleaming hill.
My nest in the grass was good: they deemed that none might see —
Ah God in heaven! my eyes looked out of the hell in me,

Read complete poem

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