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Search results for: sonnet | Found 863 Poems

121.	Sonnet 59: If there be nothing new, but that which is by William Shakespeare
	If there be nothing new, but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, Which, labouring for invention bear amis The second burth...

122.	Sonnet 6: Then let not winter's ragged hand deface by William Shakespeare
	Then let not winter's ragged hand deface In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled. Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place With beauty's tre...

123.	Sonnet 60: Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore by William Shakespeare
	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 sequen...

124.	Sonnet 61: Is it thy will thy image should keep open by William Shakespeare
	Is it thy will thy image should keep open My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken While shadows like to ...

125.	Sonnet 62: Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye by William Shakespeare
	Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in ...

126.	Sonnet 63: Against my love shall be, as I am now by William Shakespeare
	Against my love shall be, as I am now, With Time's injurious hand crushed and o'erworn; When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow With ...

127.	Sonnet 64: When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced by William Shakespeare
	When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed And brass etern...

128.	Sonnet 65: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea by William Shakespeare
	Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose a...

129.	Sonnet 66: Tired with all these, for restful death I cry by William Shakespeare
	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 ...

130.	Sonnet 67: Ah, wherefore with infection should he live by William Shakespeare
	Ah, wherefore with infection should he live, And with his presence grace impiety, That sin by him advantage should achieve, And lace it self with h...

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