The Sonnets CVIII - Whats in the brain, that ink may character

Whats in the brain, that ink may character,
Which hath not figurd to thee my true spirit?
Whats new to speak, what now to register,
That may express my love, or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must each day say oer the very same;
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallowd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in loves fresh case,
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page;
Finding the first conceit of love there bred,
Where time and outward form would show it dead.

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 CXXVII - In the old age black was not counted fair

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CXLV - Those lips that Loves own hand did make

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CXXXI - Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XV - When I consider every thing that grows

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 LIX - If there be nothing new, but that which is

If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguild,
Which labouring for invention bear amiss
The second burthen of a former child!
O! that record could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was done!
That I might see what the old world could say
To this composed wonder of your frame;
Whr we are mended, or whr better they,
Or whether revolution be the same.
O! sure I am the wits of former days,
To subjects worse have given admiring praise.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CVI - When in the chronicle of wasted time

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rime,
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beautys best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have expressd
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And for they looked but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets LXXVI - Why is my verse so barren of new pride

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.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CIX - O! never say that I was false of heart

O! never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seemd my flame to qualify,
As easy might I from my self depart
As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie:
That is my home of love: if I have rangd,
Like him that travels, I return again;
Just to the time, not with the time exchangd,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe though in my nature reignd,
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be staind,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.

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 XX - A womans face with natures own hand painted

A womans face with natures own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A womans gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false womens fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals mens eyes and womens souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prickd thee out for womens pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy loves use their treasure.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CVIII - Whats in the brain, that ink may character

Suggested Poems

The Sonnets CVIII - Whats in the brain, that ink may character