Архив метки: william shakespeare sonnets

Sonnet no. 154

The little Love-god lying once asleep, Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that fire Which many legions … Читать далее

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Sonnet no. 153

Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep: A maid of Dian’s this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love, A dateless lively … Читать далее

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Sonnet no. 152

In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn, But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing; In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn, In vowing new hate after new love bearing: But why of two oaths’ breach … Читать далее

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Sonnet no. 151

Love is too young to know what conscience is, Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss, Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove: For, thou betraying me, I do … Читать далее

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Sonnet no. 150

O! from what power hast thou this powerful might, With insufficiency my heart to sway? To make me give the lie to my true sight, And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? Whence hast thou this becoming of … Читать далее

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Sonnet no. 149

Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not, When I against myself with thee partake? Do I not think on thee, when I forgot Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake? Who hateth thee that I do … Читать далее

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Sonnet no. 148

O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight; Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, That censures falsely what they see aright? If that be fair whereon my false … Читать далее

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Sonnet no. 147

My love is as a fever longing still, For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions … Читать далее

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Sonnet no. 146

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, … … … these rebel powers that thee array Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a … Читать далее

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Sonnet no. 145

Those lips that Love’s own hand did make, Breathed forth the sound that said ‘I hate’, To me that languished for her sake: But when she saw my woeful state, Straight in her heart did mercy come, Chiding that tongue … Читать далее

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