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

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travels end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider lovd not speed, being made from thee:
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
For that same groan doth put this in my mind,
My grief lies onward, and my joy behind.

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 CX - Alas! tis true, I have gone here and there

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XXXVII - As a decrepit father takes delight

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XLI - Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets LXXXIII - I never saw that you did painting need

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 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

Sonnet.

Art thou already weary of the way?
    Thou who hast yet but half the way gone o'er:
    Get up, and lift thy burthen: lo, before
Thy feet the road goes stretching far away.
If thou already faint, who hast but come
Through half thy pilgrimage, with fellows gay,
Love, youth, and hope, under the rosy bloom
And temperate airs, of early breaking day;
Look yonder, how the heavens stoop and gloom,
There cease the trees to shade, the flowers to spring,
And the angels leave thee; what wilt thou become
Through yon drear stretch of dismal wandering,
Lonely and dark?    I shall take courage, friend,
For comes not every step more near the end?

Frances Anne Kemble

The Sonnets XLIV - If the dull substance of my flesh were thought

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then despite of space I would be brought,
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removd from thee;
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land,
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But, ah! thought kills me that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend, times leisure with my moan;
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of eithers woe.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XXVIII - How can I then return in happy plight

How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarred the benefit of rest?
When days oppression is not easd by night,
But day by night and night by day oppressd,
And each, though enemies to eithers reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please him thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexiond night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gildst the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make griefs length seem stronger.

William Shakespeare

The Affliction Of Margaret

I

Where art thou, my beloved Son,
Where art thou, worse to me than dead?
Oh find me, prosperous or undone!
Or, if the grave be now thy bed,
Why am I ignorant of the same
That I may rest; and neither blame
Nor sorrow may attend thy name?

II

Seven years, alas! to have received
No tidings of an only child;
To have despaired, have hoped, believed,
And been for evermore beguiled;
Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss!
I catch at them, and then I miss;
Was ever darkness like to this?

III

He was among the prime in worth,
An object beauteous to behold;
Well born, well bred; I sent him forth
Ingenuous, innocent, and bold:
If things ensued that wanted grace,
As hath been said, they were not base;
And never...

William Wordsworth

The Sonnets LI - Thus can my love excuse the slow offence

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed:
From where thou art why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O! what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind,
In winged speed no motion shall I know,
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;
Therefore desire, of perfectst love being made,
Shall neighno dull flesh, in his fiery race;
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade,
Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow,
Towards thee Ill run, and give him leave to go.

William Shakespeare