Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day
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 and date. 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 drag 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.
True love never alters and it lasts long Let me not the marriage of true minds Admit impediments; love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds. Or bends with the remover to remove. O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Within his bending sickle’s compass come,
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
You are the morning lark
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, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featur’d like him, like him with friends poessess’d.
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state (Like to lark at break of day arising from sullen earth )sings hymns at heaven’s gate. For thy sweet love rememb’red such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
Friend, you dissolve my pain
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sign the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear times’s waste;
The can I drown an eye (unus’d to flow)
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,
And moan th’expense of many a vanish’d sight;
Then can I grieve at grIevances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before: But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restor’d, and sorrows end.
Breif time but enduring poetry
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end, Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
Crooked eclipses against his glory fight, And time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
For my love, I live
Tir’d with all these , for restful death I cry As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm’d in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honor shamefully misplac’d,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgrac’d,
And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly (doctor-like)controlling skill, And captive good attending captain ill:
Tir’d with all these ,from these would I be gone
Save that to die, I leave my love alone.