Sonnet LXII

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 my heart.

Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,

No shape so true, no truth of such account;

And for myself mine own worth do define,

As I all other in all worths surmount.

But when my glass shows me myself indeed,

Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,

Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;

Self, so self-loving were iniquity.

'Tis thee (my self) that for myself I praise,

Painting my age with beauty of thy days.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet LXII".
.

Sonnet LXXVI

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?

Why write I still all one, ever the same,

And keep invention in a noted weed,

That every word doth almost tell my name,

Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?

O know sweet love I always write of you,

And you and love are still my argument:

So all my best is dressing old words new,

Spending again what is already spent:

For as the sun is daily new and old,

So is my love still telling what is told.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet LXXVI".
.

Sonnet LXXXVII

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing:
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting,
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking,
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgement making.
Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a King, but waking no such matter.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet LXXXVII".
.

Sonnet XXIX

When in disgrace with Fortune and men's 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,

Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,

Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least,

Yet in these thoughts myself 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 Heaven's gate,

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings,

That then I scorn to change my state with Kings.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet XXIX".
.

Sonnet LV

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,

But you shall shine more bright in these contents

Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.

When wasteful war shall statues overturn,

And broils root out the work of masonry,

Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn

The living record of your memory.

'Gainst death, and all-oblivious enmity

Shall you pace forth, your praise shall still find room,

Even in the eyes of all posterity

That wear this world out to the ending doom.

So till the judgment that yourself arise,

You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet LV".
.

Sonnet V

Those hours that with gentle work did frame,

The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell

Will play the tyrants to the very same,

And that unfair which fairly doth excel:

For never resting time leads summer on,

To hideous winter and confounds him there,

Sap check'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,

Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness everywhere:

Then were not summer's distillation left

A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,

Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,

Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.

But flowers distill'd though they with winter meet,

Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet V".
.

Sonnet XCVII

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
And yet this time remov'd was summer's time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,
Like widowed wombs after their lord's decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me,
But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit,
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And thou away, the very birds are mute.
Or if they sing, 't is with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet XCVII".
.

Sonnet XCVIII

From you have I been absent in the spring,

When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim

Hath put a spirit of youth in everything:

That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.

Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell

Of different flowers in odour and in hue,

Could make me any summer's story tell,

Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew;

Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,

Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;

They were but sweet, but figures of delight:

Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.

Yet seem'd it winter still, and you away,

As with your shadow I with these did play. 

 .
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet XCVIII".
.

Sonnet XXIII

As an unperfect actor on the stage,

Who with his fear is put besides his part,

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;

So I, for fear of trust, forget to say,

The perfect ceremony of love's rite,

And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,

O'ercharg'd with burthen of mine love's might.

O let my books be then the eloquence,

And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,

Who plead for love, and look for recompense,

More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.

O learn to read what silent love hath writ,

To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet XXIII".
.

Sonnet CVI

When in the chronicle of wasted time

I see descriptions of the fairest wights,

And beauty making beautiful old rhyme

In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights,

Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,

Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,

I see their antique pen would have express'd

Even such a beauty as you master now.

So all their praises are but prophecies

Of this our time, all you prefiguring,

And for they look'd but with divining eyes,

They had not skill enough your worth to sing:

For we which now behold these present days,

Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet CVI".
.

Sonnet CVII

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul,

Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come,

Can yet the lease of my true love control,

Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom.

The mortal Moon hath her eclipse endur'd,

And the sad Augurs mock their own presage;

Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd,

And peace proclaims olives of endless age.

Now with the drops of this most balmy time,

My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,

Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhyme,

While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes.

And thou in this shalt find thy monument,

When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet CVII".
.

Sonnet CIX

O never say that I was false of heart,

Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify!

As easy might I from myself depart,

As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie:

That is my home of love: if I have rang'd,

Like him that travels I return again,

Just to the time, not with the time exchang'd,

So that myself bring water for my stain.

Never believe, though in my nature reign'd

All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,

That it could so preposterously be stain'd,

To leave for nothing all thy sum of good:

For nothing this wide universe I call,

Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet CIX".
.

Sonnet XVIII

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd,

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd:

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet XVIII".
.

Sonnet XV

When I consider everything that grows

Holds in perfection but a little moment.

That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows

Whereon the stars in secret influence comment.

When I perceive that men as plants increase,

Cheered and check'd even by the selfsame sky:

Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,

And wear their brave state out of memory.

Then the conceit of this inconstant stay,

Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,

Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay

To change your day of youth to sullied night,

And all in war with Time for love of you

As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet XV".
.

Sonnet LVII

Being your slave what should I do but tend

Upon the hours, and times of your desire?

I have no precious time at all to spend;

Nor services to do till you require.

Nor dare I chide the world without end hour,

Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you,

Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,

When you have bid your servant once adieu.

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought,

Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,

But like a sad slave stay and think of nought,

Save where you are, how happy you make those.

So true a fool is love, that in your Will,

(Though you do anything), he thinks no ill.

.
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet LVII".
.

Sonnet XXVI

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage

Thy merit bath my duty strongly knit,

To thee I send this written ambassage

To witness duty, not to show my wit:

Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine

May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it;

But that I hope some good conceit of thine

In thy soul's thought (all naked) will bestow it:

Till whatsoever star that guides my moving,

Points on me graciously with fair aspect,

And puts apparel on my tottered loving,

To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:

Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee,

Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

 .
William Shakespeare | "Sonnet XXVI".
.

Sonnet CV

Let not my love be call'd idolatry,

Nor my beloved as an idol show,

Since all alike my songs and praises be

To one, of one, still such, and ever so.

Kind is my love today, tomorrow kind,

Still constant in a wondrous excellence,

Therefore my verse to constancy confin'd,

One thing expressing, leaves out difference.

Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument,

Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words,

And in this change is my invention spent,

Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.

Fair, kind, and true, have often liv'd alone,

Which three till now, never kept seat in one.

 .William Shakespeare | "Sonnet CV".
.