TWENTY-FIVE SONNETS
OF SHAKESPEARE
HALL I COMPARE THEE TO A
SUMMER'S DAY
Devouring time, blunt thou the lion's paws XIX 9
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes xxIx IO
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Oh how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
Not marble nor the gilded monuments
What is your substance, whereof are you made
When I have seen by time's fell hand defaced
XXX II
XXXI 12 XXXIII 13 LIV 14
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
That time of year thou mayest in me behold
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing
Then hate me when thou wilt: if ever, now
They that have power hurt, and will do none
From you have I been absent in the spring
My love is strength'ned, though more weak in seeming
To me, fair friend, you never can be old
When in the chronicle of wasted time
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Let me not in the marriage of true minds
Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth
HALL 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 loose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest 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.
EVOURING TIME, BLUNT THOU
THE LION'S PAWS,
AND MAKE THE EARTH DEVOUR
HER OWN SWEET BROOD:
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-liv'd Phoenix in her blood:
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet'st,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
HEN IN DISGRACE WITH
FORTUNE & MEN'S EYES,
IALL 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 possest,
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 rememb'red such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
HEN TO THE SESSIONS OF
SWEET SILENT THOUGHT
I SUMMON UP REMEMB-
RANCE OF THINGS PAST,
I SIGH THE LACK OF MANY
A THING I SOUGHT,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye (unus'd to flow)
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanisht sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end.
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