The Sonnets CLIII - Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep

Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep:
A maid of Dians this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrowd from this holy fire of Love,
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seeting bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress eye Loves brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distemperd guest,
But found no cure, the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress eyes.

William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare was an English playwright, poet, and actor, regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's greatest dramatist. Known as the 'Bard of Avon,' his extant works include approximately 39 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and a few other verses. His plays have been translated into every major living language and are performed more often than those of any other playwright.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XCIV - They that have power to hurt, and will do none

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CXIX - What potions have I drunk of Siren tears

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CXXVI - O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets LV - Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

The Sonnets CLIV - The little Love-god lying once asleep

The little Love-god lying once asleep,
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vowd chaste life to keep
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warmd;
And so the general of hot desire
Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarmd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Loves fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy,
For men diseasd; but I, my mistress thrall,
Came there for cure and this by that I prove,
Loves fire heats water, water cools not love.

William Shakespeare

Sonnet 36 Cupid coniured

Thou purblind Boy, since thou hast been so slacke
To wound her Heart, whose Eyes haue wounded me,
And suff'red her to glory in my Wracke,
Thus to my aid, I lastly coniure thee;
By Hellish Styx (by which the THUND'RER sweares)
By thy faire Mothers vnauoided Power,
By HECAT'S Names, by PROSERPINE'S sad Teares,
When she was rapt to the infernall Bower,
By thine own loued PSYCHES, by the Fires
Spent on thine Altars, flaming vp to Heau'n;
By all the Louers Sighes, Vowes, and Desires,
By all the Wounds that euer thou hast giu'n;
    I coniure thee by all that I haue nam'd,
    To make her loue, or CUPID be thou damn'd.

Michael Drayton

Elegy VI. Anno Aetates Undevigesimo.[1]

As yet a stranger to the gentle fires
That Amathusia's smiling Queen^[2] inspires,
Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts,
And scorn'd his claim to rule all human hearts.
Go, child, I said, transfix the tim'rous dove,
An easy conquest suits an infant Love;
Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be
Sufficient triumph to a Chief like thee;
Why aim thy idle arms at human kind?
Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind.        
    The Cyprian^[3] heard, and, kindling into ire,
(None kindles sooner) burn'd with double fire.
    It was the Spring, and newly risen day
Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the First of May;
My eyes too tender for the blaze of light,
Still sought the shelter of retiring night,
When Love approach'd, in painted plumes arraye...

William Cowper

Sonnets: Idea XLVIII

Cupid, I hate thee, which I'd have thee know;
A naked starveling ever mayst thou be!
Poor rogue, go pawn thy fascia and thy bow
For some poor rags wherewith to cover thee;
    Or if thou'lt not thy archery forbear,
To some base rustic do thyself prefer,
And when corn's sown or grown into the ear,
Practice thy quiver and turn crowkeeper;
    Or being blind, as fittest for the trade,
Go hire thyself some bungling harper's boy;
They that are blind are minstrels often made,
So mayst thou live to thy fair mother's joy;
    That whilst with Mars she holdeth her old way,
    Thou, her blind son, mayst sit by them and play.

Michael Drayton

Upon Cupid.

Love, like a beggar, came to me
With hose and doublet torn:
His shirt bedangling from his knee,
With hat and shoes outworn.

He ask'd an alms; I gave him bread,
And meat too, for his need:
Of which, when he had fully fed,
He wished me all good speed.

Away he went, but as he turn'd
(In faith I know not how)
He touch'd me so, as that I burn['d],
And am tormented now.

Love's silent flames and fires obscure
Then crept into my heart;
And though I saw no bow, I'm sure
His finger was the dart.

Robert Herrick

The Sonnets XXVII - Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear respose for limbs with travel tird;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when bodys works expired:
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my souls imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

William Shakespeare