All Poems
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Shakespeare's Sonnets: When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
© William Shakespeare
When forty winters shall besiege thy browAnd dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now,Will be a totter'd weed of small worth held:Then being askt where all thy beauty lies,Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,To say within thine own deep-sunken eyesWere an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise
Shakespeare's Sonnets: What's in the brain that ink may character
© William Shakespeare
What's in the brain that ink may characterWhich hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit?What's new to speak, what now 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,Ev'n as when first I hallowed thy fair name
Shakespeare's Sonnets: What potions have I drunk of siren tears
© William Shakespeare
What potions have I drunk of siren tearsDistill'd from limbecks foul as hell within,Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,Still losing when I saw my self to win?What wretched errors hath my heart committedWhil'st it hath thought it self so blessèd never?How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fittedIn the distraction of this madding fever?O benefit of ill, now I find trueThat better is by evil still made better,And ruin'd love when it is built anewGrows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater
Shakespeare's Sonnets: What is your substance, whereof are you made
© William Shakespeare
What is your substance, whereof are you made,That millions of strange shadows on you tend?Since every one hath, every one, one shade,And you, but one, can every shadow lend
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Wer't ought to me I bore the canopy
© William Shakespeare
Wer't ought to me I bore the canopy,With my extern the outward honoring,Or laid great bases for eternity,Which proves more short than waste or ruining?Have I not seen dwellers on form and favourLose all and more by paying too much rentFor compound sweet, forgoing simple savour,Pitiful thrivers in their gazing spent?No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,And take thou my oblation, poor but free,Which is not mixt with seconds, knows no art,But mutual render, only me for thee
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
© William Shakespeare
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,The dear repose for limbs with travail tired,But then begins a journey in my headTo work my mind, when body's work's expired
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Was it the proud full sail of his great verse
© William Shakespeare
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,Bound for the prize of (all too precious) you,That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write,Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?No, neither he, nor his compeers by nightGiving him aid, my verse astonishèd
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
© William Shakespeare
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spendUpon thy self thy beauty's legacy?Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,And being frank she lends to those are free:Then beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuseThe bounteous largess giv'n thee to give?Profitless usurer, why dost thou useSo great a sum of sums yet can'st not live?For having traffic with thy self alone,Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive;Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,What acceptable audit can'st thou leave? Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Which usèd lives th' executor to be
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Two loves I have of comfort and despair
© William Shakespeare
Two loves I have of comfort and despairWhich like two spirits do suggest me still:The better angel is a man right fair;The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill
Shakespeare's Sonnets: To me, fair friend, you never can be old
© William Shakespeare
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 coldHave from the forests shook three summers' pride,Three beaut'ous springs to yellow autumn turn'dIn process of the seasons have I seen
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Tir'd with all these for restful death I cry
© William Shakespeare
Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,As to behold desert a begger born,And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,And purest faith unhappily forsworn,And gilded honour shamefully misplac't,And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,And strength by limping sway disablèd,And art made tongue-tied by authority,And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,And simple-truth miscall'd simplicity,And captive-good attending captain-ill
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear
© William Shakespeare
Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
© William Shakespeare
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brainFull character'd with lasting memoryWhich shall above that idle rank remainBeyond all date, ev'n to eternity
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts
© William Shakespeare
Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts,Which I by lacking have supposèd dead,And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,And all those friends which I thought burièd
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Thus is his cheek the map of days out-worn
© William Shakespeare
Thus is his cheek the map of days out-wornWhen beauty liv'd and died as flow'rs do now,Before these bastard signs of fair were borneOr durst inhabit on a living brow:Before the golden tresses of the dead,The right of sepulchers, were shorn away,To live a second life on second head,Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay
Dream Song 119: Fresh-shaven, past months and a picture in New York
© John Berryman
Fresh-shaven, past months & a picture in New York
of Beard Two, I did have Three took off. Well. .
Shadow & act, shadow & act,
Better get white or you' get whacked,
or keep so-called black
& raise new hell.
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
© William Shakespeare
Thus can my love excuse the slow offenceOf my dull bearer, when from thee I speed
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Thou blind fool love, what dost thou to mine eyes
© William Shakespeare
Thou blind fool love, what dost thou to mine eyesThat they behold and see not what they see?They know what beauty is, see where it lies,Yet what the best is, take the worst to be
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art
© William Shakespeare
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel,For well thou know'st to my dear doting heartThou art the fairest and most precious jewel
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits
© William Shakespeare
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commitsWhen I am some-time absent from thy heart,Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,For still temptation follows where thou art
