Poems of William Shakespeare
|364.||Sonnets LIII: What is your substance, whereof are you made||1/1/2004|
|365.||Sonnets LX: Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shor||1/1/2004|
|366.||Sonnets to the Sundry Notes of Music||3/30/2010|
|371.||Sonnets XCIV: They that have power to hurt and will do none||1/1/2004|
|377.||Sonnets XIX: Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws||1/1/2004|
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