Poems begining by S
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Sonnet 85: My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still
© William Shakespeare
My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise, richly compiled,
Reserve their character with golden quill,
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
Sonnet 84: Who is it that says most, which can say more
© William Shakespeare
Who is it that says most, which can say more,
Than this rich praise -- that you alone are you,
In whose confine immurèd is the store
Which should example where your equal grew?
Sonnet 83: I never saw that you did painting need
© William Shakespeare
I never saw that you did painting need,
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
That barren tender of a poet's debt;
Sonnet 81: Or I shall live your epitaph to make
© William Shakespeare
Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten,
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Sonnet 8: Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
© William Shakespeare
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
Sonnet 79: Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid
© William Shakespeare
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,
But now my gracious numbers are decayed,
And my sick Muse doth give an other place.
Sonnet 78: So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
© William Shakespeare
So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse,
And found such fair assistance in my verse
As every alien pen hath got my use,
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Sonnet 77: 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;
These vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste.
Sonnet 76: Why is my verse so barren of new pride?
© William Shakespeare
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
To new-found methods, and to compounds strange?
Sonnet 75: So are you to my thoughts as food to life
© William Shakespeare
So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
Sonnet 74: But be contented when that fell arrest
© William Shakespeare
But be contented when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away;
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold
© William Shakespeare
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.
Sonnet 71: No longer mourn for me when I am dead
© William Shakespeare
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell.
Sonnet 70: That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect
© William Shakespeare
That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair;
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
Sonnet 7: Lo, in the orient when the gracious light
© William Shakespeare
Lo, in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
Sonnet XII
© Caroline Norton
THE DISDAINED LOVER.
I STAND beside the waves,--the mournful waves,--
Where thou didst stand in silence and in fear,
For thou wert train'd by custom's haughty slaves,
Sonnet 69: Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
© William Shakespeare
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,
Utt'ring bare truth, even so as foes commend.
Sonnet 68: Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn
© William Shakespeare
Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before these bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
Sonnet 66: Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
© William Shakespeare
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
Sonnet 65: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
© William Shakespeare
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
