#sonnet

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. ↗

— Elizabeth Barrett Browning

#poems #poetry #sonnet #sonnet-xlii #death

I'm working now on a collection of Shakespearean sonnets, about 100 of them, that I may publish if anyone's interested. My take on life is a little different from the bard's. ↗

— Jack Prelutsky

#anyone #collection #different #i #interested

I have always wanted what I have now come to call the voice of personal narrative. That has always been the appealing voice in poetry. It started for me lyrically in Shakespeare's sonnets. ↗

— Diane Wakoski

#appealing #been #call #come #i

Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art! Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise? Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies, Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car? And driven the Hamadryad from the wood To seek a shelter in some happier star? Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, The Elfin from the green grass, and from me The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree? ↗

— Edgar Allan Poe

#art

But hurry, let's entwine ourselves as one, our mouth broken, our soul bitten by love, so time discovers us safely destroyed. ↗

— Federico García Lorca

#broken #destroyed #entwine #federico-garcia-lorca #love

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. ↗

— Shakespear

#dreams

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes, For they in thee a thousand errors note; But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise, Who in despite of view is pleased to dote; Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted, Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone, Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited To any sensual feast* with thee alone*: But my five wits* nor my five senses can Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man*, Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be: Only my plague thus far I count my gain, That she that makes me sin awards me pain. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#faith

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. ↗

— William Shakespeare

#love #permanence #sonnet- #life

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach ↗

— Elizabeth Barrett Browning

#sonnet #love