Poems begining by S

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Sonnet 15: When I consider every thing that grows

© William Shakespeare

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment.
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment.

Sonnet 149: Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not

© William Shakespeare

Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not,
When I against my self with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee when I forgot
Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake?

Sonnet 148: O me! what eyes hath love put in my head

© William Shakespeare

O me! what eyes hath love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?

Sonnet 146: Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth

© William Shakespeare

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
My sinful earth these rebel powers array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?

Sonnet 144: Two loves I have, of comfort and despair

© William Shakespeare

Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.

Sonnet 143: Lo, as a careful huswife runs to catch

© William Shakespeare

Lo, as a careful huswife runs to catch
One of her feathered creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay,

Sonnet 141: In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes

© William Shakespeare

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote.

Sonnet 140: Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press

© William Shakespeare

Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain,
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.

Sonnet 14: Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck

© William Shakespeare

Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck,
And yet methinks I have astronomy
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;

Sonnet 137: Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes

© William Shakespeare

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes
That 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.

Sonnet 135: Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will

© William Shakespeare

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will,
And Will to boot, and Will in overplus;
More than enough am I that vex thee still,
To thy sweet will making addition thus.

Sonnet 134: So, now I have confessed that he is thine

© William Shakespeare

So, now I have confessed that he is thine,
And I my self am mortgaged to thy will,
Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still.

Sonnet 133: Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan

© William Shakespeare

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!
Is't not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?

Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

© William Shakespeare

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

Sonnet 13: O, that you were your self! But, love, you are

O, that you were your self! But, love, you are
No longer yours than you yourself here live.
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.

Sonnet 127: In the old age black was not counted fair

In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty slandered with a bastard shame.

Sonnet 125: Were't aught to me I bore the canopy

Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which proves more short than waste or ruining?

Sonnet 124: If my dear love were but the child of state

If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfathered,
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered.

Stella

Já raro e mais escasso
A noite arrasta o manto,
E verte o último pranto
Por todo o vasto espaço.

Sonnet 122: Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full charactered with lasting memory,
Which shall above that idle rank remain
Beyond all date even to eternity