William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

Sonnet Cviii - Poem by William Shakespeare

What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must, each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page,
Finding the first conceit of love there bred
Where time and outward form would show it dead.


Comments about Sonnet Cviii by William Shakespeare

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (1/6/2016 12:58:00 PM)

    In expressing his love to his friend the poet had already used all the ideas which thought could devise, and all the expressions which language could supply. But, notwithstanding the constant repetition, the poet must not cease from his strains. Love is eternal, knowing no change in the object beloved. (Report) Reply

    5 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • * Sunprincess * (9/16/2015 11:29:00 PM)

    ........nicely penned and rhymes wonderfully ★ (Report) Reply

  • Brian Jani Brian Jani (4/26/2014 9:27:00 AM)

    Awesome I like this poem, check mine out (Report) Reply

  • Brian Jani Brian Jani (4/26/2014 9:26:00 AM)

    Awesome I like this poem, check mine out (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: love, time, sonnet



Poem Submitted: Friday, May 18, 2001

Poem Edited: Friday, May 18, 2001


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