Sonnet 15: When I Consider Everything That Grows Sonnet 18: Shall I Compare Thee To A

When I consider every thing that grows

Summer’s Day?
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky,
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And wear their brave state out of memory;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Where wasteful Time debateth with decay
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
To change your day of youth to sullied night,
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
And all in war with Time for love of you,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
SONNET 15 IN MODERN ENGLISH
When I consider that every living thing holds its state of perfection for SONNET 18 IN MODERN ENGLISH
only a brief moment; that this huge stage, the world, presents only sham
performances, which the stars secretly influence; when I realise that men Shall I compare you to a summer’s day? You are more lovely and more
grow like plants, encouraged and inhibited by the same weather, show off moderate: Harsh winds disturb the delicate buds of May, and summer
when flushed with youthful sap, then declining when full-grown, wearing
doesn’t last long enough. Sometimes the sun is too hot, and its golden face
away until their youth has been forgotten; then the consideration of this
short, unpredictable life makes me see you as rich in youth in the face of is often dimmed by clouds. All beautiful things eventually become less
the plans of Time and Decay to change your day of youth to dingy night. beautiful, either by the experiences of life or by the passing of time. But
And, at war with Time because of my love for you, as he’s taking from your eternal beauty won’t fade, nor lose any of its quality. And you will
you I’m renewing you in my poetry. never die, as you will live on in my enduring poetry. As long as there are
people still alive to read poems this sonnet will live, and you will live in it .

Sonnet 27: Weary With Toil, I Haste To My Bed

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired:
For then my thoughts–from far where I abide–
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul’s imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.
SONNET 27 IN MODERN ENGLISH
Weary from travelling, I hasten to my bed – that welcome place of rest for
limbs tired out from travel. But then another journey begins in my head
that puts my mind to work after my body’s work has ended; because my
mind begins another, arduous, trip, from far away from home, to where
you are, keeping my drooping eyelids wide open. It makes them stare at
darkness, as blind people do, except that my imagination makes me see
your image, that hangs like a jewel in the black night and makes it
beautiful, transforming its old face to a young one. Look, now! Because of
you, neither my limbs by day, nor my mind by night, enjoy any rest.
Sonnet 34: Why Didst Thou Promise Such A
Beauteous Day
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o’ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
‘Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak,
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:
The offender’s sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence’s cross.
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.
SONNET 34 IN MODERN ENGLISH
Why did you, like the sun, promise such a beautiful day and make me go
out without my cloak then hide your brilliance behind the poisonous
vapours of those nasty clouds, only to let them overtake me as I went? It’s
not good enough to break through the clouds and dry the rain off my
storm-beaten face because no-one can be satisfied with a balm that heals
the wound but doesn’t cure the hurt. Nor can the shame you exhibit help:
even though you’re repentant, I’m still bereft. An offender’s regret doesn’t
give much relief to the one who has been badly offended. Ah, but those
tears you’re shedding out of love are like pearls: they are very valuable
and make up for all your bad deeds.
Shakespeare Sonnet 42: That Thou Hast It Is Not All My
Grief
That thou hast her it is not all my grief,
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;
That she hath thee is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders thus I will excuse ye:
Thou dost love her, because thou know’st I love her;
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her.
If I lose thee, my loss is my love’s gain,
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss;
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my sake lay on me this cross:
But here’s the joy; my friend and I are one;
Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone.
SONNET 42 IN MODERN ENGLISH
That you have her isn’t the only thing that’s upsetting me, although I can
tell you I loved her dearly. That she has you is the main reason that I’m
crying – a loss of love that hurts me more. This is how I’ll make excuses
for you two offenders in love: You love her because you know I love her.
And in the same way, she abuses me for my own sake, putting up with my
friend making love to her because she knows I love him. If I lose you my
loss is my mistress’ gain. And in losing her my friend is gaining. You both
gain each other and I lose both of you. And both lay this burden on me for
my own sake. But here’s the happy part: my friend and I are one person.
What flattery! So she loves only me!
Sonnet 40: Take All My Loves, My Love, Yea Take Them
All
Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then, if for my love, thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blam’d, if thou thy self deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty:
And yet, love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love’s wrong, than hate’s known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes.
SONNET 40 IN MODERN ENGLISH
Take everything I love, my love; yes, take it all. What do you have then,
that you didn’t have before? Not love that you could call true love, my
love; all my love was already yours before you took this extra love from
me. If you make love to another person instead of accepting my love I
can’t blame you, love, because you’re just using my love. But still, you are
to blame if you deceive yourself by taking from someone else what you
won’t take from me. I forgive that robbery, dear thief, even though you’re
stealing from someone so poor. And yet, everyone who loves knows that
it’s more hurtful to be wounded by someone one loves than by an enemy.
You – gracious and lascivious at the same time, in whom everything bad
appears good – may kill me with hurtfulness, but we must not be enemies.
Sonnet 53: What Is Your Substance, Whereof Are You
Made
What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new:
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year,
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear;
And you in every blessed shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part,
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
SONNET 53 IN MODERN ENGLISH
What is there so special about you, what are you made of, that you can
express millions of unusual forms? Everyone else has only one form but
you, although just one person, can add something to everyone else’s form.
Try and paint Adonis and the forgery is a poor imitation of you. Or capture
Helen in all her beauty and it’s you, newly painted in Grecian clothes.
Mention the spring and the rich harvest season – the one is just a weak
reflection of your beauty and the other a pale imitation of your richness.
We recognise you in every beautiful object we see. There’s something of
you in every appearance of beauty but you’re not like any of them – and
none of them are like you – in the constancy of your heart.
Sonnet 54: O! How Much More Doth Beauty Beauteous
Seem
O! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give.
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour, which doth in it live.
The canker blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
When summer’s breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo’d, and unrespected fade;
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall vade, my verse distills your truth.
SONNET 54 IN MODERN ENGLISH
Oh, how much more beautiful beauty appears when accompanied by the
lovely ornament of integrity! Roses look beautiful but we see them as even
more beautiful because of that wonderful perfume that lives in them. Dog
roses have every bit as intense a colour as the perfumed hue of those roses;
have the same thorns, and blow as appealingly when the breath of summer
opens their buds. But because their appearance is their only virtue they live
obscurely and die unnoticed, in loneliness. Sweet roses don’t – the most
fragrant odours are distilled from their beautiful corpses. And that’s the
case with you, beautiful and lovely youth: when that fades my verse will
distill your essence.