William Shakespeare

(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616 / Warwickshire)

William Shakespeare Poems

1. Where The Bee Sucks (from The Tempest) 6/10/2015
2. From The Rape Of Lucrece 4/17/2015
3. The Procreation Sonnets (1 - 17) 3/29/2010
4. Sonnet Xxiv 5/21/2001
5. Sonnet Xxxix 5/21/2001
6. Sonnet Xxv 5/21/2001
7. Sonnet Xi 5/21/2001
8. Sonnet Xciii 5/21/2001
9. Sonnet Xiii 5/21/2001
10. Sonnet Xiv 5/21/2001
11. Some Say That Ever ‘Gainst That Season Comes (Hamlet, Act I, Scene I) 6/3/2015
12. Sonnet Xlv 5/21/2001
13. Sonnet Xxiii 5/21/2001
14. Sonnet Xxii 5/21/2001
15. Sonnet Lxv 5/21/2001
16. Sonnets To The Sundry Notes Of Music 3/30/2010
17. Sonnet Lxi 5/21/2001
18. Sonnet Viii 5/21/2001
19. The Dark Lady Sonnets (127 - 154) 3/29/2010
20. Sonnet Lxxxvii 5/21/2001
21. Sonnet Xliv 5/21/2001
22. Sonnet Xxxvii 5/21/2001
23. Sonnet Cxxxv 5/18/2001
24. The Canakin Clink Pub Song (From 'Othello') 2/4/2015
25. Sonnet Xlviii 5/21/2001
26. Sonnet Xci 5/21/2001
27. Sonnet X 5/21/2001
28. Sonnet Lxxviii 5/21/2001
29. Sonnets Xiii 1/4/2003
30. Sonnet Xxxv 5/21/2001
31. Sonnet Cxxxiii 5/18/2001
32. Sonnet Lviii 5/21/2001
33. Sonnet Xxviii 5/21/2001
34. Sonnet Cxxxii 5/18/2001
35. Sonnets Xvi 1/4/2003
36. Sonnet Lv 5/21/2001
37. Helen's Soliloqy (All's Well That Ends Well) 3/3/2015
38. The Rival Poet Sonnets (78 - 86) 3/29/2010
39. Sonnet Xvii 5/21/2001
40. Sonnet Lxiii 5/21/2001
Best Poem of William Shakespeare

All The World's A Stage

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in ...

Read the full of All The World's A Stage

Sonnet Cviii

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

[Hata Bildir]