Сонет № 100 Уильям ШекспирWhere art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so longTo speak of that which gives thee all thy might?Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,Dark'ning thy pow'r to lend base subjects light?Return, forget...

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field, Thy youth’s proud livery so gazed on now Will be a tottered weed of small worth held: Then being asked where all thy beauty lies, Where all the tre...

My glass shall not persuade me I am old,So long as youth and thou are of one date, ?But when in thee time’s furrows I behold, ?Then look I death my days should expiate: ?For all that beauty that doth cover thee ?Is but the seemly raime...

So is it not with me as with that Muse, ?Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, ?Who heaven itself for ornament doth use, ?And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, ?Making a couplement of proud compare ?With sun and moon, with ea...

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s paws,??And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;?Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,??And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;??Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet’st,??...

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 h...

When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night, When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silvered o’er with white, When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from hea...

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow’st In one of thine, from that which thou departest, And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow’st Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest: Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and in...

Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled: Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place With beauty’s treasure ere it be self-killed: That use is not forbidden usury Which happies those that pa...

O that you were your self! but, love, you are No longer yours than you yourself here live; Against this coming end you should prepare, And your sweet semblance to some other give: So should that beauty which you hold in lease Find no d...