All Poems

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Sonnet 77: Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear

© William Shakespeare

Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;
These vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste.

Fear

© Gamaliel Bradford

When I was little,
My life was half fear.
My nerves were as brittle
As nature may bear.

Sonnet 76: Why is my verse so barren of new pride?

© William Shakespeare

Why is my verse so barren of new pride?
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods, and to compounds strange?

Sonnet 75: So are you to my thoughts as food to life

© William Shakespeare

So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.

Sonnet 74: But be contented when that fell arrest

© William Shakespeare

But be contented when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away;
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.

Pour Y.B.

© Guillaume Apollinaire

Bien qu'il me vienne en août votre quatrain d'avril
M'a gardé de tout mal et de toute blessure
Votre douceur me suit durant mon aventure
Au long de cet an sombre ainsi que fut l'an mil

Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold

© William Shakespeare

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 ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.

At Moonrise And Onwards

© Thomas Hardy

I thought you a fire
On Heron-Plantation Hill,
Dealing out mischief the most dire
To the chattels of men of hire
There in their vill.

Sonnet 71: No longer mourn for me when I am dead

© William Shakespeare

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell.

Sonnet 70: That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect

© William Shakespeare

That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair;
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.

Revolution

© Lesbia Harford

She is not of the fireside,
My lovely love;
Nor books, nor even a cradle,
She bends above.

Sonnet 7: Lo, in the orient when the gracious light

© William Shakespeare

Lo, in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;

Sonnet XII

THE DISDAINED LOVER.
I STAND beside the waves,--the mournful waves,--
Where thou didst stand in silence and in fear,
For thou wert train'd by custom's haughty slaves,

Sonnet 69: Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;
All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,
Utt'ring bare truth, even so as foes commend.

Sonnet 68: Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn

Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before these bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;

Thus ringed eternally, to parted graves,
The sundered doors into one palace home,
Stumbling through age's thickets, we will go,
Faltering but faithful-willing to lie low,
Willing to part, not willing to deny
The lovely past, where all the futures lie.

Sonnet 66: 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 trimmed in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,