Shakespeare's Sonnets

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Sonnet Dedication Sonnet 1 Sonnet 2 Sonnet 3 Sonnet 4 Sonnet 5 Sonnet 6 Sonnet 7 Sonnet 8 Sonnet 9 Sonnet 10 Sonnet 11 Sonnet 12 Sonnet 13 Sonnet 14 Sonnet 15 Sonnet 16 Sonnet 17 Sonnet 18 Sonnet 19 Sonnet 20 Sonnet 21 Sonnet 22 Sonnet 23 Sonnet 24 Sonnet 25 Sonnet 26 Sonnet 27 Sonnet 28 Sonnet 29 Sonnet 30 Sonnet 31 Sonnet 32 Sonnet 33 Sonnet 34 Sonnet 35 Sonnet 36 Sonnet 37 Sonnet 38 Sonnet 39 Sonnet 40 Sonnet 41 Sonnet 42 Sonnet 43 Sonnet 44 Sonnet 45 Sonnet 46 Sonnet 47 Sonnet 48 Sonnet 49 Sonnet 50 Sonnet 51 Sonnet 52 Sonnet 53 Sonnet 54 Sonnet 55 Sonnet 56 Sonnet 57 Sonnet 58 Sonnet 59 Sonnet 60 Sonnet 61 Sonnet 62 Sonnet 63 Sonnet 64 Sonnet 65 Sonnet 66 Sonnet 67 Sonnet 68 Sonnet 69 Sonnet 70 Sonnet 71 Sonnet 72 Sonnet 73 Sonnet 74 Sonnet 75 Sonnet 76 Sonnet 77 Sonnet 78 Sonnet 79 Sonnet 80 Sonnet 81 Sonnet 82 Sonnet 83 Sonnet 84 Sonnet 85 Sonnet 86 Sonnet 87 Sonnet 88 Sonnet 89 Sonnet 90 Sonnet 91 Sonnet 92 Sonnet 93 Sonnet 94 Sonnet 95 Sonnet 96 Sonnet 97 Sonnet 98 Sonnet 99 Sonnet 100 Sonnet 101 Sonnet 102 Sonnet 103 Sonnet 104 Sonnet 105 Sonnet 106 Sonnet 107 Sonnet 108 Sonnet 109 Sonnet 110 Sonnet 111 Sonnet 112 Sonnet 113 Sonnet 114 Sonnet 115 Sonnet 116 Sonnet 117 Sonnet 118 Sonnet 119 Sonnet 120 Sonnet 121 Sonnet 122 Sonnet 123 Sonnet 124 Sonnet 125 Sonnet 126 Sonnet 127 Sonnet 128 Sonnet 129 Sonnet 130 Sonnet 131 Sonnet 132 Sonnet 133 Sonnet 134 Sonnet 135 Sonnet 136 Sonnet 137 Sonnet 138 Sonnet 139 Sonnet 140 Sonnet 141 Sonnet 142 Sonnet 143 Sonnet 144 Sonnet 145 Sonnet 146 Sonnet 147 Sonnet 148 Sonnet 149 Sonnet 150 Sonnet 151 Sonnet 152 Sonnet 153 Sonnet 154
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Shakespeare's Sonnets
Shakescleare Translation

Shakespeare's Sonnets Translation Sonnet 21

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So is it not with me as with that muse, Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heav'n itself for ornament doth use, And every fair with his fair doth rehearse— Making a couplement of proud compare With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems, With April’s first-born flow'rs, and all things rare That heaven’s air in this huge rondure hems. O let me, true in love but truly write, And then believe me: my love is as fair As any mother’s child, though not so bright As those gold candles fixed in heaven’s air. Let them say more that like of hearsay well; I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

I am not like that other poet,
Inspired to write by a woman wearing makeup,
Who uses heaven itself as an ornament of his praise,
And every beautiful thing describes his beautiful thing,
Coupling her through proud comparisons
With the sun and moon, with the treasures of the earth and sea,
With the first flowers of the spring, and all the rarest things
That are contained within the vast circle of the heavens.
Oh let me, faithful in love, write truthfully,
And then believe me: my love is as beautiful
As any mother's child, although it is not as bright
As the stars fixed like golden candles in the sky.
Let others say more who like rumor too much.
I won't praise what I don't intend to sell.

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