Sonnet XXIII by William Shakespeare

                     Sonnet XXIII

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 say
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,
O’ercharg’d with burthen of mine own love’s might.
O, let my looks be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
More than that tongue that more hat more express’d.
   O, learn to read what silent love hath writ!
   To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.

 

Read Full Post »

Blow, Thou Winter Wind by William Shakespeare

Blow, Thou Winter Wind

(song from As You Like It)

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
   As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
   Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
   Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
      This life is most jolly.
   Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
   That dost not bite so nigh
      As benefits forgot:
   Though thou the waters warp,
   Thy sting is not so sharp
      As friend remember’d not.

——————————————————-

photo by Andreas Krappweis at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nVIC8ke/Ride+in+Snow+Storm

Read Full Post »

Sonnet LXXVI by William Shakespeare

                     Sonnet LXXVI

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?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument:
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent;
   For as the sun is daily new and old,
   So is my love still telling what is told.

Read Full Post »

Sonnet XVI – Make War Upon This Bloody Tyrant by William Shakespeare

                    Sonnet XVI

But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours;
And many maiden gardens, yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit.
So should the lines of life that life repair
Which this time’s pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.

Read Full Post »

Sonnet XV – When I Consider by William Shakespeare

Sonnet XV

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth naught by shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check’d even by the selfsame sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory:
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night
And, all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I ingraft you new.

—————————————————–

(photo by scottsnyde at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mioWF5I/The+girls )

 

Read Full Post »

Sonnet II – When Forty Winters by William Shakespeare

                         Sonnet II

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery, so gaz’d on now,
Will be a tatter’d weed of small worth held.
Then being ask’d where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use
If thou couldst answer, ‘This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,’
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old
And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.

Read Full Post »

Sonnet XVIII by William Shakespeare

English: A facsimile of the original printing of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18. Source: http://extra.shu.ac.uk/emls/Sonnets/b4v.jpg (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

                     Sonnet XVIII

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.
A sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall Death brag thou wand’rest in his shade
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Read Full Post »

Under The Greenwood Tree by William Shakespeare

Watercolour painting inspired by the Thomas Hardy novel "Under the Greenwood Tree" (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note
Unto the sweet bird’s throat –
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun
And loves to live i’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats
And pleased with what he gets –
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

Read Full Post »

No Longer Mourn For Me (Sonnet LXXI) by William Shakespeare

                          Sonnet LXXI

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.
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I, perhaps, compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay,
   Lest the wise world should look into your moan
   And mock you with me after I am gone.

————————————————————-

photo by Leo Reynolds via Flickr

Read Full Post »

Look In Thy Glass (Sonnet III) by William Shakespeare

Image via Wikipedia

Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another,
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unless some mother,
For where is she so fair whose unear’d womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
   But if thou live remem’bred not to be,
   Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

Read Full Post »