Search results
Results from the WOW.Com Content Network
That time of year thou mayst in me behold, When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang; In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self that seals up ...
As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow’st In one of thine, from that which thou departest; And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow’st Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest. Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase; Without this, folly, age and cold decay: If all were minded so, the times should cease
Thou by thy dial’s shady stealth mayst know Time’s thievish progress to eternity; Look, what thy memory cannot contain, Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find Those children nursed, delivered from thy brain, To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book.
Sonnet 92 follows directly on from sonnet 91, where the poet was happy in everything except that 'thou mayst take/ All this away'. But, sonnet 92 says, if the fair young man steals himself away, the poet's life will immediately end.
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. Then, if for my love thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest; But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my ...
Sonnet 26 is one of 154 sonnets written by the English playwright and poet William Shakespeare, and is a part of the Fair Youth sequence.. The sonnet is generally regarded as the end-point or culmination of the group of five preceding poems.
Thou, best of dearest and mine only care, Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. Thee have I not lock’d up in any chest, Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, Within the gentle closure of my breast, From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part; And even thence thou wilt be stol’n, I fear, For truth proves thievish for a ...
So runn’st thou after that which flies from thee, Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, And play the mother’s part, kiss me, be kind: So will I pray that thou mayst have thy “Will,” If thou turn back and my loud crying still.