The Sonnets II - When forty winters shall besiege thy brow

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beautys field,
Thy youths proud livery so gazed on now,
Will be a tatterd weed of small worth held:
Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deservd thy beautys use,
If thou couldst answer This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feelst it cold.

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 CXXIX - The expense of spirit in a waste of shame

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CXXVIII - How oft when thou, my music, music playst

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets LXXI - No longer mourn for me when I am dead

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets LXXXVIII - When thou shalt be disposd to set me light

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 CIV - To me, fair friend, you never can be old

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyd,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turnd,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burnd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceivd;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceivd:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beautys summer dead.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets LXIII - Against my love shall be as I am now

Against my love shall be as I am now,
With Times injurious hand crushd and oerworn;
When hours have draind his blood and filld his brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
Hath travelld on to ages steepy night;
And all those beauties whereof now hes king
Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding ages cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet loves beauty, though my lovers life:
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them still green.

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 XII - When I do count the clock that tells the time

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls, all silvered oer with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summers green all girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing gainst Times scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

William Shakespeare

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

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap checked with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty oer-snowed and bareness every where:
Then were not summers distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beautys effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was:
But flowers distilld, though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets LXV - Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality oersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O! how shall summers honey breath hold out,
Against the wrackful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Times best jewel from Times chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O! none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

William Shakespeare