William Shakespeare (1564-1616) William Shakespeare (National Portrait Gallery, London) 12. When I do count the clock that tells the time 18. Shall I compare thee to a summers day? 29. When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes 30. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 55. Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 73. That time of year thou mayst in me behold 87. Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing 94. They that have power to hurt and will do none 99. The forward violet thus did I chide 116. Let me not to the marriage of true minds 129. Th expense of spirit in a waste of shame 130. My mistress eyes are nothing like the sun 144. Two loves I have of comfort and despair 145. Those lips that loves own hand did make Check out The Amazing Web Site of Shakespeares Sonnets. When I do count the clock that tells the time 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, And sable curls, all silverd oer with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summers green all girded up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard; Then of thy beauty do I question make, That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, And die as fast as they see others grow; And nothing gainst Times scythe can make defence Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. Shall I compare thee to a summers day? Shall I compare thee to a summers day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summers lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or natures changing course, untrimmd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wanderst in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest; So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featurd like him, like him with friends possessd, Desiring this mans art, and that mans scope, With what I most enjoy contented least: Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee,--and then my state (Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth) sings hymns at heavens gate; For thy sweet love rememberd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings. When to the sessions of sweet silent thought When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear times waste: Then can I drown an eye, unusd to flow, For precious friends hid in deaths dateless night, And weep afresh loves long-since cancelld woe, And moan the expense of many a vanishd sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell oer The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restord, and sorrows end. Not marble nor the gilded monuments Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmeard with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword nor wars quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. Gainst death and all oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room, Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom. So, till the judgment that yourself arise, You live in this, and dwell in lovers eyes. That time of year thou mayst in me behold 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, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth from the west; Which by and by black night doth take away, Deaths second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the deathbed whereon it must expire, Consumed by that which it was nourished by. This thou perceivst, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou knowst thy estimate: The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? And for that riches where is my deserving? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing, Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking; So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making. Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter, In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. They that have power to hurt and will do none 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, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow; They rightly do inherit heavens graces And husband natures riches from expense; They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others but stewards of their excellence. The summers flower is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die, But if that flower with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves his dignity: For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. The forward violet thus did I chide The forward violet thus did I chide: Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my loves breath? The purple pride Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells In my loves veins thou hast too grossly dyed. The lily I condemnèd for thy hand, And buds of marjoram had stoln thy hair; The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, One blushing shame, another white despair; A third, nor red nor white, had stoln of both, And to his robbery had annexd thy breath; But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth A vengeful canker eat him up to death. More flowers I noted, yet I none could see But sweet or colour it had stoln from thee. Let me not to the marriage of true minds Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no; it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worths unknown, although his height be taken. Loves not Times fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickles compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me provd, I never writ, nor no man ever lovd.
Posted on: Sun, 02 Feb 2014 13:10:21 +0000
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