The Sonnets XCVII - How like a winter hath my absence been

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old Decembers bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed was summers time;
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widowd wombs after their lords decease:
Yet this abundant issue seemd to me
But hope of orphans, and unfatherd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute:
Or, if they sing, tis with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winters near.

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 LXXI - No longer mourn for me when I am dead

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets CXXV - Weret aught to me I bore the canopy

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

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

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XXIX - When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes

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 XCVIII - From you have I been absent in the spring

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressd in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laughd and leapd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summers story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lilys white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemd it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

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 LXXIII - That time of year thou mayst in me behold

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruind choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Deaths second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
Consumd with that which it was nourishd by.
This thou perceivst, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

William Shakespeare

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

Sonnet LV. On The Quick Transition From Winter To Summer In The Year 1785.

Loud blew the North thro' April's pallid days,
    Nor grass the field, nor leaves the grove obtains,
    Nor crystal sun-beams, nor the gilded rains,
    That bless the hours of promise, gently raise
Warmth in the blood, without that fiery blaze,
    Which makes it boil along the throbbing veins. -
    Albion, displeas'd, her own lov'd Spring surveys
    Passing, with volant step, o'er russet plains;
Sees her to Summer's fierce embraces speed,
    Pale, and unrobed. - Faithless! thou well may'st hide
    Close in his sultry breast thy recreant head,
That did'st, neglecting thy distinguish'd Isle,
    In Winter's icy arms so long abide,
    While Britain vainly languish'd for thy smile!

Anna Seward

The Sonnets XVIII - Shall I compare thee to a summers day?

Shall I compare thee to a summers day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summers lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmd,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or natures changing course untrimmd:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owst,
Nor shall death brag thou wanderst in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growst,
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare