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

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 CIII - Alack! what poverty my Muse brings forth

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets V - Those hours, that with gentle work did frame

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CI - O truant Muse what shall be thy amends

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CXXXVII - Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

English

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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

The Sonnets CXLVII - My love is as a fever longing still

My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now Reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmens are,
At random from the truth vainly expressd;
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXV - Those lines that I before have writ do lie

Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Even those that said I could not love you dearer:
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reckoning Time, whose milliond accidents
Creep in twixt vows, and change decrees of kings,
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharpst intents,
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things;
Alas! why fearing of Times tyranny,
Might I not then say, Now I love you best,
When I was certain oer incertainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
Love is a babe, then might I not say so,
To give full growth to that which still doth grow?

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XLV - The other two, slight air, and purging fire

The other two, slight air, and purging fire
Are both with thee, wherever I abide;
The first my thought, the other my desire,
These present-absent with swift motion slide.
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee,
My life, being made of four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, oppressd with melancholy;
Until lifes composition be recurd
By those swift messengers returnd from thee,
Who even but now come back again, assurd,
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me:
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
I send them back again, and straight grow sad.

William Shakespeare

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

The Sonnets LXI - Is it thy will, thy image should keep open

Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou sendst from thee
So far from home into my deeds to pry,
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenure of thy jealousy?
O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake:
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake:
For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near.

William Shakespeare