Sonnet 108: What's in the brain that ink may character
What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what now to register,
That may express my love, or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy, but yet, like prayers divine,
I must each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old thou mine, I thine
Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page,
Finding the first conceit of love there bred
Where time and outward form would show it dead.
William Shakespeare
Vous avez aimé cette poésie ? faites la connaître !
D'autres poésies de William Shakespeare
A Fairy Song
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
A Lover's Complaint
FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A...
All the World's a Stage
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely...
Aubade
HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And...
Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind
Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Thou art not so unkind
Bridal Song
ROSES, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their...
Carpe Diem
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O stay and hear!...
Dirge
COME away, come away, death,
And in sad cypres let me...
Dirge of the Three Queens
URNS and odours bring away!
Vapours, sighs, darken the...
Fairy Land i
OVER hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,...
Précédentes poésies
Young in New Orleans
starving there, sitting around the bars,
and at night...
Yes Yes
when God created love he didn't help most
when God created...
Writing
often it is the only
thing
between you and
Working Out
Van Gogh cut off his ear
gave it to a
prostitute
Who In The Hell Is Tom Jones?
I was shacked with a ...
