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| Search results for: sonnet | Found 863 Poems |
| 721. | Sonnet VIII: There's Nothing Grieves Me by Michael Drayton | | There's nothing grieves me, but that Age should haste,
That in my days I may not see thee old,
That where those two clear sparkling eyes are plac'... |
| 722. | Sonnet XXXIII: Whilst Yet Mine Eyes by Michael Drayton | | To Imagination
Whilst yet mine Eyes do surfeit with delight,
My woeful Heart, imprison'd in my breast,
Wisheth to be transformed to my sight,
... |
| 723. | Sonnet XXVIII: To Such As Say by Michael Drayton | | To such as say thy love I overprize,
And do not stick to term my praises folly,
Against these folks, that think themselves so wise,
I thus oppos... |
| 724. | Sonnet LIV: Yet Read at Last by Michael Drayton | | Yet read at last the story of my woe,
The dreary abstracts of my endless cares,
With my life's sorrow interlined so,
Smok'd with my sighs and bl... |
| 725. | Sonnet XLIV: Whilst Thus My Pen by Michael Drayton | | Whilst thus my pen strives to eternize thee,
Age rules my lines with wrinkles in my face,
Where in the map of all my misery
Is modell'd out the ... |
| 726. | Sonnet LVII: You Best Discern'd by Michael Drayton | | You best discern'd of my mind's inward eyes,
And yet your graces outwardly divine,
Whose dear remembrance in my bosom lies,
Too rich a relic for... |
| 727. | Sonnet XLVII: In Pride of Wit by Michael Drayton | | In pride of wit when high desire of fame
Gave life and courage to my laboring pen,
And first the sound and virtue of my name
Won grace and credi... |
| 728. | Sonnet X: To Nothing Fitter by Michael Drayton | | To nothing fitter can I thee compare
Than to the son of some rich penny-father,
Who, having now brought on his end with care,
Leaves to his son ... |
| 729. | Sonnet XXXI: Methinks I See by Michael Drayton | | To the Critic
Methinks I see some crooked mimic jeer,
And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace,
Turning my papers asks, "What have we here?"
... |
| 730. | Sonnet XLIX: Thou Leaden Brain by Michael Drayton | | Thou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write,
And say'st my lines be dull and do not move,
I marvel not thou feel'st not my delight,
Which ne... |
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