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

I never saw that you did painting need,
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
That barren tender of a poets debt:
And therefore have I slept in your report,
That you yourself, being extant, well might show
How far a modern quill doth come too short,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute,
Which shall be most my glory being dumb;
For I impair not beauty being mute,
When others would give life, and bring a tomb.
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
Than both your poets can in praise devise.

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 XLVI - Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XCIV - They that have power to hurt, and will do none

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets III - Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

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

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 LXXX - O! how I faint when I of you do write

O! how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame!
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark, inferior far to his,
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
Or, being wrackd, I am a worthless boat,
He of tall building, and of goodly pride:
Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
The worst was this, my love was my decay.

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

The Sonnets CI - O truant Muse what shall be thy amends

O truant Muse what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyd?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer Muse: wilt thou not haply say,
Truth needs no colour, with his colour fixd;
Beauty no pencil, beautys truth to lay;
But best is best, if never intermixd?
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so, fort lies in thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb
And to be praisd of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
To make him seem long hence as he shows now.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets CIII - Alack! what poverty my Muse brings forth

Alack! what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument, all bare, is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside!
O! blame me not, if I no more can write!
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace.
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend,
To mar the subject that before was well?
For to no other pass my verses tend
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit,
Your own glass shows you when you look in it.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets LXXIX - Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid

Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace;
But now my gracious numbers are decayd,
And my sick Muse doth give an other place.
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen;
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word
From thy behaviour; beauty doth he give,
And found it in thy cheek: he can afford
No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live.
Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
Since what he owes thee, thou thyself dost pay.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets LXXXII - I grant thou wert not married to my Muse

I grant thou wert not married to my Muse,
And therefore mayst without attaint oerlook
The dedicated words which writers use
Of their fair subject, blessing every book.
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue,
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise;
And therefore art enforced to seek anew
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days.
And do so, love; yet when they have devisd,
What strained touches rhetoric can lend,
Thou truly fair, wert truly sympathizd
In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend;
And their gross painting might be better usd
Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abusd.

William Shakespeare