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

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Times fickle glass, his fickle hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein showst
Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self growst.
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:
Her audit (though delayed) answered must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.

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 LXII - Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets VIII - Music to hear, why hearst thou music sadly?

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CVI - When in the chronicle of wasted time

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

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

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 XIII - O! that you were your self; but, love you are

O! that you were your self; but, love you are
No longer yours, than you your self here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give:
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination; then you were
Yourself again, after yourselfs decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold,
Against the stormy gusts of winters day
And barren rage of deaths eternal cold?
O! none but unthrifts. Dear my love, you know,
You had a father: let your son say so.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XCV - How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame

How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O! in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose.
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport,
Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise;
Naming thy name, blesses an ill report.
O! what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their habitation chose out thee,
Where beautys veil doth cover every blot
And all things turns to fair that eyes can see!
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
The hardest knife ill-usd doth lose his edge.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CII - My love is strengthend, though more weak in seeming

My love is strengthend, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear;
That love is merchandizd, whose rich esteeming,
The owners tongue doth publish every where.
Our love was new, and then but in the spring,
When I was wont to greet it with my lays;
As Philomel in summers front doth sing,
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days:
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough,
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Therefore like her, I sometime hold my tongue:
Because I would not dull you with my song.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CL - O! from what power hast thou this powerful might

O! from what power hast thou this powerful might,
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O! though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state:
If thy unworthiness raisd love in me,
More worthy I to be belovd of thee.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets LX - Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore

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 crownd,
Crooked eclipses gainst 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 beautys brow,
Feeds on the rarities of natures 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.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CXXIV - If my dear love were but the child of state

If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortunes bastard be unfatherd,
As subject to Times love or to Times hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gatherd.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto th inviting time our fashion calls:
It fears not policy, that heretic,
Which works on leases of short-numberd hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic,
That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers.
To this I witness call the fools of time,
Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.

William Shakespeare