William Shakespeare (1564--1616) Sonnet 1.From fairest creatures we desire increase From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thy self thy foe,to thy sweet self too cruel: Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content, And,tender churl,mak'st waste in niggarding: Pity the world,or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due,by the grave and thee. Sonnet 31.Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, Which I by lacking have supposed dead; And there reigns Love,and all Love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, As interest of the dead,which now appear But things removed that hidden in thee lie! Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give, That due of many now is thine alone: Their images I loved,I view in thee, And thou (all they)hast all the all of me. Sonnet 62.Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye 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
William Shakespeare (1564--1616) Sonnet 1. From fairest creatures we desire increase From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel: Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament, And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content, And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding: Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. Sonnet 31. Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, Which I by lacking have supposed dead; And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, As interest of the dead, which now appear But things removed that hidden in thee lie! Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give, That due of many now is thine alone: Their images I loved, I view in thee, And thou (all they) hast all the all of me. Sonnet 62. Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye 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 tanned antiquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; Self so self-loving were iniquity. "Tis thee,myself,that for myself I praise, Painting my age with beauty of thy days. Sonnet 130.My mistress'eyes are nothing like the sun My mistress'eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red,than her lips red: If snow be white,why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires,black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked,red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak,yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound: I grant I never saw a goddess go, My mistress,when she walks,treads on the ground: And yet by heaven,I think my love as rare, As any she belied with false compare
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 tanned antiquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; Self so self-loving were iniquity. 'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise, Painting my age with beauty of thy days. Sonnet 130. My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red, than her lips red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound: I grant I never saw a goddess go, My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare, As any she belied with false compare
