Shakespeare's Sonnets

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Ticknor and Fields, 1865 - 160 páginas
 

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Página 24 - But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest : So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
Página 58 - So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming, in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
Página 103 - Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease : Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me But hope of orphans, and nnfather'd fruit; For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And thou away, the very birds are mute ; Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
Página 110 - To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers...
Página 100 - They that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone. Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow. They rightly do inherit heaven's graces And husband nature's riches from expense-, They are the lords and owners of their faces. Others but stewards of their excellence.
Página 133 - In the old age black was not counted fair, Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name; But now is black beauty's successive heir, And Beauty slander'd with a bastard shame : For since each hand hath put on Nature's power, Fairing the foul with Art's false borrow'd face, Sweet Beauty hath no name, no holy bower, But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. Therefore my Mistress...
Página 29 - O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might. O, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, Who plead for love and look for recompense More than that tongue that more hath more express'd. O, learn to read what silent love hath writ; To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. XXIV. Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein 't is held, And perspective it is best painter's art.
Página 29 - As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put besides his part, Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart...
Página 153 - 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.
Página 18 - When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girded up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard ; Then of thy beauty do I question make, ' for store, ie to be preserved for use.

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