Poems begining by S

 / page 124 of 287 /
star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnets ix

© William Shakespeare

FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnets iv

© William Shakespeare

THY bosom is endeared with all hearts
Which I, by lacking, have supposed dead:
And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Song.

© Arthur Henry Adams

TO a woman's wistful heart
In a startled wave of feeling,
Swift and sudden,
Sweeps love's flood in,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnets iii

© William Shakespeare

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 time's waste:

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnets ii

© William Shakespeare

WHEN, in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Soldiers Of Wei Bewail Separation From Their Families

© Confucius

List to the thunder and roll of the drum!
  See how we spring and brandish the dart!
  Some raise Ts'aou's walls; some do field work at home;
  But we to the southward lonely depart.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnets i

© William Shakespeare

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,
And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet XXXVIII: How Can My Muse Want Subject to Invent

© William Shakespeare

How can my muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet XXXVIII

© William Shakespeare

How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet XXXVII

© William Shakespeare

As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet XXXVI

© William Shakespeare

Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain
Without thy help by me be borne alone.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet XXXV

© William Shakespeare

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet XXXIX

© William Shakespeare

O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?
And what is 't but mine own when I praise thee?

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet XXXIV

© William Shakespeare

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,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet XXXII

© William Shakespeare

If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet XXXI

© William Shakespeare

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead,
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet VI "I Scarcely Grieve, O Nature! at the Lot"

© Henry Timrod

I scarcely grieve, O Nature! at the lot

That pent my life within a city's bounds,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet XXX

© William Shakespeare

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 time's waste:

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet XXVIII

© William Shakespeare

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,
But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd?

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Sonnet XXVII

© William Shakespeare

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired: