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

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 XLII - That thou hast her it is not all my grief

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets IV - Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

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

William Shakespeare, Simple Poetry

The Sonnets XXII - My glass shall not persuade me I am old

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

The Sonnets XXXIV - Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds oertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak,
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:
The offenders sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offences cross.
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.

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 XXIX - When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes

When in disgrace with fortune and mens eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featurd like him, like him with friends possessd,
Desiring this mans art, and that mans scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heavens gate,;
For thy sweet love rememberd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets XVI - But wherefore do not you a mightier way

But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify your self in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens, yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Times pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live your self in eyes of men.
To give away yourself, keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.

William Shakespeare

The Sonnets LXVI - Tired with all these, for restful death I cry

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplacd,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgracd,
And strength by limping sway disabled
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalld simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tird with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

William Shakespeare