Category Poem

But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? And fortify yourself in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? Now stand you on the top of happy hours, And many…

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck; And yet methinks I have astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, Pointing…

O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are No longer yours than you yourself here live: Against this coming end you should prepare, And your sweet semblance to some other give. So should that beauty which you hold in…

When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silver’d o’er with white; When lofty trees I see barren…

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest In one of thine, from that which thou departest; And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest. Herein lives wisdom, beauty…

For shame deny that thou bear’st love to any, Who for thyself art so unprovident. Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, 4But that thou none lov’st is most evident. For thou art so possessed with murd’rous hate That ’gainst thyself thou stick’st not to conspire, Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate 8Which to repair should be thy chief desire. O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind. Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? Be as thy presence is, gracious and kind, Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove.  Make thee another self for love of me,  That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye That thou consum’st thyself in single life? Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die, 4The world will wail thee like a makeless wife; The world will be thy widow and still weep That thou no form of thee hast left behind, When every private widow well may keep, 8By children’s eyes, her husband’s shape in mind. Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; But beauty’s waste hath in the world an end, And, kept unused, the user so destroys it.  No love toward others in that bosom sits  That on himself such murd’rous shame commits.

Lo! in the orient when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, Serving with looks his sacred majesty; And having climb’d the steep-up heavenly hill, Resembling strong youth in his…

Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled. Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place 4With beauty’s treasure ere it be self-killed. That use is not forbidden usury Which happies those that pay the willing loan; That’s for thyself to breed another thee, 8Or ten times happier, be it ten for one. Ten times thyself were happier than thou art If ten of thine ten times refigured thee; Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart, 12Leaving thee living in posterity?  Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair  To be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir.

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, Will play the tyrants to the very same And that unfair which fairly doth excel; For never-resting time leads summer on To hideous winter…