Sonnet 30: When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought by William Shakespeare

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor’d and sorrows end.

Sonnet 30: Translation to modern English

When I summons the remembrance of past things to the court of sweet silent thought I regret not having achieved many of the things I strived for, and I add new tears to the old griefs, crying about the waste of my valuable time. It is then that I can drown my eyes, which don’t often flow, thinking about precious friends who are dead; and weep all over again for love that has lost its pain long ago; and cry over many a sight I’ll never see again. At those times I’m able to cry over sorrows I’ve long ago let go of, and sadly count them one by one, and feel them all over again, as though I hadn’t suffered their pain before. But if, while doing that, I think about you, my dear friend, all those losses are restored and my pain ends.

Sonnet 18: Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day by William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
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.

What is this sonnet about?

 Sonnet 18 is one of a sequence of sonnets written for an unidentified young male friend of Shakespeare’s. In the sonnets, Shakespeare is urging his friend to marry and have children because his qualities and beauty are such that it would be a tragedy not to pass them on to a new generation.

Modern Interpretation:

Shall I compare you to a summer’s day? You are more lovely and more moderate: Harsh winds disturb the delicate buds of May, and summer doesn’t last long enough. Sometimes the sun is too hot, and its golden face is often dimmed by clouds. All beautiful things eventually become less beautiful, either by the experiences of life or by the passing of time. But your eternal beauty won’t fade, nor lose any of its quality. And you will 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 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold by William Shakespeare

Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold by William Shakespeare

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

Sonnet 129: Th’ Expense Of Spirit In A Waste Of Shame by William Shakespeare

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action: and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad.
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

Sonnet 129: Translation to modern English

Squandering vital energy in a wasteland of moral decay is what satisfying one’s lust amounts to. And in the anticipation of it lust makes one dishonest, murderous, violent, blameworthy, savage, extreme, rude and not to be trusted. As soon as its goal has been achieved one despises it. It’s hunted beyond reason and as soon as it’s had it’s hated beyond reason, like an irresistible bait put in front of one on purpose to make the taker mad. One is crazy in the pursuit of sex, and during sex too: having had it, having it and hunting for it one goes to extremes. It’s blissful while it’s happening and a true sorrow afterwards – before an anticipated joy, afterwards nothing but a dream. Everyone knows this very well, yet no-one knows it well enough to avoid the heaven that leads men to this hell.

Sonnet 130: My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun by William Shakespeare

Sonnet 130: My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun by William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare – My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

William Shakespeare – My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun (Sonnet 130)

Sonnet 33: Full Many A Glorious Morning I Have Seen by William Shakspeare

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out, alack, he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask’d him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven’s sun staineth.

Sonnet 33: Translation to modern English

I’ve seen so many glorious mornings when the royal sun lights up the mountaintops, kisses the green meadows with its golden face and makes streams shine with its celestial magic. But then it allows the blackest clouds to ride across its heavenly face with ugly gloom, and hides that face from the dull world, sneaking off to the west with the disgrace of it. In just that way my sun shone on my brow early one morning with that same triumphant splendour. But alas, he was mine for only one hour: the dark clouds have hidden him from me now. Yet, my love doesn’t condemn him in the least. The suns of humanity may show their faults if the sun of heaven does.

All the World’s a Stage by William Shakespeare

All the World’s a Stage by William Shakespeare

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 quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Sonnet 104: To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old by William Shakespeare

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey’d,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn’d,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn’d,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv’d;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv’d:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead.

Sonnet 104: Translation to modern English

To me, lovely friend, you could never be old, because your beauty seems unchanged from the time I first saw your eyes. Three cold winters have shaken the leaves of three beautiful springs and autumns from the forests as I have watched the seasons pass: The sweet smell of three Aprils have been burned up in three hot Junes since I first saw your youthful beauty, which is still in its prime. Ah! But beauty moves forward continually, imperceptibly, like the hands of a clock. In the same way, your beauty, which seems unchanged to me, moves forward, deceiving my eyes. In consideration of that, listen, you unborn generations: the height of beauty was dead before you were born.

Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind by William Shakespear

Act II, Scene 7 from As You Like It by William Shakespeare (1600)

Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember’d not.
Heigh-ho! sing, &c.

Sonnet 147 My love is as a fever by William Shakespeare

Sonnet 147 My love is as a fever by William Shakespeare

My love is as a fever – Sonnet 147 by William Shakespeare

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men’s are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed.
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

My love is as a fever – Sonnet 147 by William Shakespeare

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