Fear poems

/ page 8 of 454 /

Order by :

1
. . .
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
. . .
454

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea

© William Shakespeare

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless seaBut sad mortality o'er-sways their pow'r,How with this rage shall beauty hold a pleaWhose action is no stronger then a flow'r?O how shall summer's honey breath hold outAgainst the wrackful siege of batt'ring daysWhen rocks impregnable are not so stout,Nor gates of steel so strong but time decays?O fearful meditation! where, alack,Shall time's best jewel from time's chest lie hid?Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back,Or who his spoil o'er beauty can forbid? O none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright

Shakespeare's Sonnets: O thou my lovely boy, who in thy pow'r

© William Shakespeare

O thou my lovely boy, who in thy pow'rDost hold time's fickle glass, his fickle hour,Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st,Thy lover's with'ring, as thy sweet self grow'st,If nature (sov'reign mistress over wrack)As thou go'st onwards still will pluck thee back,She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skillMay time disgrace, and wretched minute kill

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Not mine own fears nor the prophetic soul

© William Shakespeare

Not mine own fears nor the prophetic soulOf the wide world, dreaming on things to come,Can yet the lease of my true love control,Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye

© William Shakespeare

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eyeThat thou consum'st thy self in single life?Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die,The world will wail thee like a makeless wife,The world will be thy widow and still weepThat thou no form of thee hast left behind,When every private widow well may keep,By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:Look what an unthrift in the world doth spendShifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it,But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,And kept unused the user so destroys it: No love tow'rd others in that bosom sits That on himself such murd'rous shame commits

Shakespeare's Sonnets: If my dear love were but the child of state

© William Shakespeare

If my dear love were but the child of state,It might for fortune's bastard be unfather'dAs subject to time's love, or to time's hate,Weeds among weeds, or flow'rs with flow'rs gather'd

Shakespeare's Sonnets: How careful was I when I took my way

© William Shakespeare

How careful was I, when I took my way,Each trifle under truest bars to thrustThat to my use it might un-usèd stayFrom hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust;But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,Thou best of dearest, and mine only care,Art left the prey of every vulgar thief

Shakespeare's Sonnets: But do thy worst to steal thy self away

© William Shakespeare

But do thy worst to steal thy self away,For term of life thou art assurèd mine,And life no longer than thy love will stay,For it depends upon that love of thine

Shakespeare's Sonnets: As an unperfect actor on the stage

© William Shakespeare

As an unperfect actor on the stage,Who with his fear is put besides his part,Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart,So I for fear of trust forget to sayThe perfect ceremony of love's right,And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,O'er-charg'd with burthen of mine own love's might:O let my books be then the eloquenceAnd dumb presagers of my speaking breast,Who plead for love and look for recompenceMore than that tongue that more hath more express't

Richard II (excerpts): This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle

© William Shakespeare

This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle,This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,This other Eden, demi-paradise,This fortress built by Nature for her selfAgainst infection and the hand of war,This happy breed of men, this little world,This precious stone set in a silver seaWhich serves it in the office of a wallOr as a moat defensive to a house,Against the envy of less happier lands,This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,Feared by their breed and famous for their birth,Renownèd for their deeds as far from homeFor Christian service and true chivalryAs is the sepulchre in stubborn JewryOf the world's ransom, blessèd Mary's son

Richard II (excerpts): Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs

© William Shakespeare

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs

A Midsummer Night's Dream (excerpts): Lovers and mad men have such seething brains

© William Shakespeare

Lovers and mad men have such seething brains,Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend moreThan cool reason ever comprehends

Song: Love still has something of the sea

© Sir Charles Sedley

Love still has something of the sea, From whence his Mother rose;No time his slaves from doubt can free, Nor give their thoughts repose.

A Song of Renunciation

© Seaman Owen

In the days of my season of salad, When the down was as dew on my cheek,And for French I was bred on the ballad, For Greek on the writers of Greek,--Then I sang of the rose that is ruddy, Of "pleasure that winces and stings,"Of white women and wine that is bloody, And similar things

A New Profession

© Seaman Owen

My hopeless boy! when I compare (Claiming a father's right to do so)Your hollow brain, your vacuous air,With all the time, and wealth and care Lavished upon your mental trousseau;

The Ride to Melrose

CANTO I

Marmion: Canto 6

Next morn the Baron climb'd the tower,To view afar the Scottish power, Encamp'd on Flodden edge:The white pavilions made a show,Like remnants of the winter snow, Along the dusky ridge