My mistress’ eyes are nothing like
Coral is far more red than her lip
If snow be white, why then her bre
If hairs be wires, black wires gro
I have seen roses damasked, red an

Shall I compare thee to a summer’
Thou art more lovely and more temp
Rough winds do shake the darling b
And summer’s lease hath all too sh
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven

When, in disgrace with fortune and
I all alone beweep my outcast stat
And trouble deaf heaven with my bo
And look upon myself and curse my
Wishing me like to one more rich i

Full many a glorious morning have
Flatter the mountain-tops with sov
Kissing with golden face the meado
Gilding pale streams with heavenly
Anon permit the basest clouds to r

As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides h
Or some fierce thing replete with
Whose strength’s abundance weakens
So I, for fear of trust, forget t

Is it thy will thy image should ke
My heavy eyelids to the weary nigh
Dost thou desire my slumbers shoul
While shadows like to thee do mock
Is it thy spirit that thou send’st

How like a winter hath my absence
From thee, the pleasure of the fle
What freezings have I felt, what
What old December’s bareness ever
And yet this time remov’d was summ

Not mine own fears, nor the prophe
Of the wide world dreaming on thin
Can yet the lease of my true love
Suppos’d as forfeit to a confin’d
The mortal moon hath her eclipse e

That time of year thou mayst in me
When yellow leaves, or none, or fe
Upon those boughs which shake agai
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the
In me thou see’st the twilight of

When to the sessions of sweet sile
I summon up remembrance of things
I sigh the lack of many a thing I
And with old woes new wail my dear
Then can I drown an eye, unus’d t

My love is as a fever, longing sti
For that which longer nurseth the
Feeding on that which doth preserv
The uncertain sickly appetite to p
My reason, the physician to my lov

Let me not to the marriage of true
Admit impediments. Love is not lo
Which alters when it alteration fi
Or bends with the remover to remov
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

Who will believe my verse in time
If it were fill’d with your most h
Though yet, heaven knows, it is bu
Which hides your life and shows no
If I could write the beauty of yo

That you were once unkind befriend
And for that sorrow which I then
Needs must I under my transgressi
Unless my nerves were brass or ham
For if you were by my unkindness s

Alas, 'tis true I have gone here
And made myself a motley to the vi
Gored mine own thoughts, sold chea
Made old offences of affections ne
Most true it is that I have look’

Weary with toil, I haste me to my
The dear repose for limbs with tra
But then begins a journey in my he
To work my mind, when body’s work’
For then my thoughts, from far whe

A woman’s face with Nature’s own
Hast thou, the master-mistress of
A woman’s gentle heart, but not ac
With shifting change, as is false
An eye more bright than theirs, le

Love is my sin and thy dear virtue
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful
O, but with mine compare thou thin
And thou shalt find it merits not
Or, if it do, not from those lips

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful
These rebel powers that thee array
Why dost thou pine within and suff
Painting thy outward walls so cost
Why so large cost, having so short

From fairest creatures we desire i
That thereby beauty’s rose might n
But as the riper should by time de
His tender heir might bear his mem
But thou, contracted to thine own

Look in thy glass, and tell the fa
Now is the time that face should f
Whose fresh repair if now thou not
Thou dost beguile the world, unble
For where is she so fair whose une

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost tho
Upon thyself thy beauty’s legacy?
Nature’s bequest gives nothing but
And being frank she lends to those
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost

Like as the waves make towards the
So do our minutes hasten to their
Each changing place with that whic
In sequent toil all forwards do co
Nativity, once in the main of ligh

Lo! in the orient when the graciou
Lifts up his burning head, each un
Doth homage to his new—appearing s
Serving with looks his sacred maje
And having climb’d the steep—up he

The expense of spirit in a waste o
Is lust in action; and till action
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, fu
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not
Enjoy’d no sooner but despised str

When my love swears that she is ma
I do believe her, though I know s
That she might think me some untut
Unlearned in the world’s false sub
Thus vainly thinking that she thin

The forward violet thus did I chi
Sweet thief, whence didst thou ste
If not from my love’s breath? The
Which on thy soft cheek for comple
In my love’s veins thou hast too g

When I do count the clock that te
And see the brave day sunk in hide
When I behold the violet past pri
And sable curls all silver’d o’er
When lofty trees I see barren of

Those lips that Love’s own hand d
Breathed forth the sound that said
To me that languished for her sake
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy co

Some glory in their birth, some in
Some in their wealth, some in thei
Some in their garments, though new
Some in their hawks and hounds, so
And every humour hath his adjunct

Sweet love, renew thy force; be it
Thy edge should blunter be than ap
Which but to—day by feeding is all
To—morrow sharpened in his former
So, love, be thou, although to—day

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth,
But sad mortality o’er—sways their
How with this rage shall beauty ho
Whose action is no stronger than a
O, how shall summer’s honey breath

I never saw that you did painting
And therefore to your fair no pain
I found, or thought I found, you
The barren tender of a poet’s debt
And therefore have I slept in you

Being your slave, what should I d
Upon the hours and times of your d
I have no precious time* at all to
Nor services to do, till you requi
Nor dare I chide the world—withou

O, never say that I was false of
Though absence seem’d my flame to
As easy might I from myself depar
As from my soul, which in thy brea
That is my home of love: if I hav

O, how much more doth beauty beaut
By that sweet ornament which truth
The rose looks fair, but fairer we
For that sweet odour, which doth i
The canker blooms have full as dee