Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled
Thy 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 pictured 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 me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee.
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art:
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.
written by William Shakespeare, published on Wed 06.20.2007 at 19:07
Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
written by William Shakespeare, published on Tue 06.12.2007 at 10:51
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,
But now my gracious numbers are decayed,
written by William Shakespeare, published on Mon 05.14.2007 at 06:26
Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposèd dead,
written by William Shakespeare, published on Sun 05.13.2007 at 16:02
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountaintops with sovereign eye,
written by William Shakespeare, published on Mon 04.30.2007 at 10:23
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
written by William Shakespeare, published on Sat 04.14.2007 at 09:19
Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;