Beauty poems

/ page 6 of 313 /

Order by :

1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
. . .
313

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Then let not winter's wragged hand deface

© William Shakespeare

Then let not winter's wragged hand defaceIn thee thy summer ere thou be distill'd:Make sweet some vial, treasure thou some place,With beauty's treasure ere it be self-kill'd

Shakespeare's Sonnets: That thou are blam'd shall not be thy defect

© William Shakespeare

That thou are blam'd 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

Shakespeare's Sonnets: So shall I live, supposing thou art true

© William Shakespeare

So shall I live, supposing thou art true,Like a deceived husband, so love's faceMay still seem love to me, though alter'd new:Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place

Shakespeare's Sonnets: So now I have confess't that he is thine

So now I have confess't that he is thine,And I my self am mortgag'd to thy will,My self I'll forfeit, so that other mineThou wilt restore to be my comfort still,But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,For thou art covetous, and he is kind

Shakespeare's Sonnets: So is it not with me as with that muse

© William Shakespeare

So is it not with me as with that muse,Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse,Who heav'n it self for ornament doth use,And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,Making a couplement of proud compare,With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,With April's first-born flowers and all things rareThat heaven's air in this huge rondure hems

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea

© William Shakespeare

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless seaBut sad mortality o'er-sways their pow'r,How with this rage shall beauty hold a pleaWhose action is no stronger then a flow'r?O how shall summer's honey breath hold outAgainst the wrackful siege of batt'ring daysWhen rocks impregnable are not so stout,Nor gates of steel so strong but time decays?O fearful meditation! where, alack,Shall time's best jewel from time's chest lie hid?Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back,Or who his spoil o'er beauty can forbid? O none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye

© William Shakespeare

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eyeAnd all my soul, and all my every part;And for this sin there is no remedy,It is so grounded inward in my heart

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Oh truant muse, what shall be thy amends

© William Shakespeare

Oh truant muse, what shall be thy amendsFor thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?Both truth and beauty on my love depends:So dost thou too, and therein dignified

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Oh how much more doth beauty beaut'ous seem

© William Shakespeare

Oh how much more doth beauty beaut'ous seem,By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deemFor that sweet odor which doth in it live:The canker blooms have full as deep a dieAs the perfumed tincture of the roses,Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly,When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:But for their virtue only is their show,They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade,Die to themselves

Shakespeare's Sonnets: O that you were your self, but love you are

© William Shakespeare

O that you were your self, but love you areNo longer yours than you your self here live;Against this coming end you should prepare,And your sweet semblance to some other give

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck

© William Shakespeare

Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck,And yet me thinks I have astronomy,But not to tell of good, or evil luck,Of plagues, of dearths, or season's quality,Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,Or say with princes if it shall go wellBy oft predict that I in heaven find

Shakespeare's Sonnets: My glass shall not persuade me I am old

© William Shakespeare

My glass shall not persuade me I am oldSo long as youth and thou are of one date,But when in thee time's furrows I behold,Then look I death my days should expiate

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd

© William Shakespeare

Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'dThy beauty's form in table of my heart,My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,And perspective it is best painter's art,For through the painter must you see his skill,To find where your true image pictur'd lies,Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,That hath his windows glazèd with thine eyes:Now see what good-turns eyes for eyes have done,Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for meAre windows to my breast, where-through the sunDelights to peep, to gaze therein on thee

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Lo in the orient when the gracious light

© William Shakespeare

Lo in the orient when the gracious lightLifts up his burning head, each under-eyeDoth homage to his new-appearing sight,Serving with looks his sacred majesty,And having climb'd the steep-up heav'nly hill,Resembling strong youth in his middle age,Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,Attending on his golden pilgrimage:But when from high-most pitch with weary car,Like feeble age he reeleth from the day,The eyes (fore-dut'ous) now converted areFrom his low tract and look an other way: So thou, thy self out-going in thy noon, Unlook'd on die'st unless thou get a son

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,So do our minutes hasten to their end,Each changing place with that which goes before,In sequent toil all forwards do contend

Shakespeare's Sonnets: Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eyeThat thou consum'st thy self in single life?Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die,The world will wail thee like a makeless wife,The world will be thy widow and still weepThat thou no form of thee hast left behind,When every private widow well may keep,By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind:Look what an unthrift in the world doth spendShifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it,But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,And kept unused the user so destroys it: No love tow'rd others in that bosom sits That on himself such murd'rous shame commits

Shakespeare's Sonnets: In the old age black was not counted fair

In the old age black was not counted fair,Or if it were it bore not beauty's name,But now is black, beauty's successive heir,And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame,For since each hand hath put on nature's pow'r,Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face,Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bow'r,But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace

Shakespeare's Sonnets: I never saw that you did painting need

I never saw that you did painting needAnd therefore to your fair no painting set

Shakespeare's Sonnets: How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame

How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shameWhich like a canker in the fragrant roseDoth spot the beauty of thy budding name!Oh in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!That tongue that tells the story of thy days(Making lascivious comments on thy sport)Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise,Naming thy name, blesses an ill report

Shakespeare's Sonnets: From fairest creatures we desire increase

From fairest creatures we desire increaseThat thereby beauty's rose might never die,But as the riper should by time decease,His tender heir might bear his memory:But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,Making a famine where abundance lies,Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,And only herald to the gaudy spring,Within thine own bud buriest thy content,And tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding: Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee

1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
. . .
313