#EnglishWriters
Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.
Those parts of thee that the world… Want nothing that the thought of h… All tongues, the voice of souls, g… Utt’ring bare truth, even so as fo… Thy outward thus with outward prai…
Farewell! Thou art too dear for m… And like enough thou know’st thy e… The charter of thy worth gives the… My bonds in thee are all determina… For how do I hold thee but by thy…
ROSES, their sharp spines being… Not royal in their smells alone, But in their hue; Maiden pinks, of odour faint, Daisies smell-less, yet most quain…
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…
All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely p… They have their exits and their en… And one man in his time plays many… His acts being seven ages. At fir…
What is your substance, whereof ar… That millions of strange shadows o… Since every one hath, every one, o… And you, but one, can every shadow… Describe Adonis, and the counterf…
Alack, what poverty my Muse bring… That having such a scope to show h… The argument all bare is of more w… Than when it hath my added praise… O, blame me not if I no more can…
What potions have I drunk of Sire… Distilled from limbecks foul as he… Applying fears to hopes, and hopes… Still losing when I saw my self t… What wretched errors hath my heart…
Where art thou, Muse, that thou f… To speak of that which gives thee… Spend’st thou thy fury on some wor… Darkening thy power to lend base s… Return, forgetful Muse, and strai…
Against my love shall be, as I am… With Time’s injurious hand crushe… When hours have drained his blood… With lines and wrinkles; when his… Hath travelled on to age’s steepy…
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 marble, nor the gilded monumen… Of princes, shall outlive this pow… But you shall shine more bright in… Than unswept stone besmear’d with… When wasteful war shall statues ov…
In the old age black was not count… Or if it were, it bore not beauty’… But now is black beauty’s successi… And beauty slandered with a bastar… For since each hand hath put on N…
