The Sonnets CXLIV - Two loves I have of comfort and despair

Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman colourd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil,
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turnd fiend,
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in anothers hell:
Yet this shall I neer know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

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 CLIV - The little Love-god lying once asleep

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets L - How heavy do I journey on the way

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XXXIII - Full many a glorious morning have I seen

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XXXVI - Let me confess that we two must be twain

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 CXIX - What potions have I drunk of Siren tears

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distilld from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted,
In the distraction of this madding fever!
O benefit of ill! now I find true
That better is, by evil still made better;
And ruind love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
So I return rebukd to my content,
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.

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

Sonnets: Idea XX

An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still,
Wherewith, alas, I have been long possessed!
Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill,
Nor give me once but one poor minute's rest.
    In me it speaks whether I sleep or wake;
And when by means to drive it out I try,
With greater torments then it me doth take,
And tortures me in most extremity.
    Before my face it lays down my despairs,
And hastes me on unto a sudden death;
Now tempting me to drown myself in tears,
And then in sighing to give up my breath.
    Thus am I still provoked to every evil,
    By this good wicked spirit, sweet angel-devil.

Michael Drayton

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 CXXIX - The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action: and till action, lust
Is perjurd, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyd no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowd bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad:
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest, to have extreme;
A bliss in proof, and provd, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposd; behind a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXII - Your love and pity doth the impression fill

Your love and pity doth the impression fill,
Which vulgar scandal stampd upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
So you oer-green my bad, my good allow?
You are my all-the-world, and I must strive
To know my shames and praises from your tongue;
None else to me, nor I to none alive,
That my steeld sense or changes right or wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of others voices, that my adders sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:
You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
That all the world besides methinks are dead.

William Shakespeare