What is your favorite sonnet?

[Admin]

So whats your favorite sonnet?

These are a few of mine:

XVII.

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies:
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.

XVIII.

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.

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

[sheabird]

my favorite sonnet is sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
Oh no! It is an ever fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken.
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rose lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

i hope i got that right. i learned this in high school - a LONG time ago. but it still sticks with me as a personal favorite.

[gmhill]

I don't really have a favourite sonnet,
but I find them very interesting...
I did get that "a-sonnet-a-day" thing, but stopped it because it was easier to come to this site and look

I hope to read many of the sonnets in times to come...

Yours Sincerely,
GlennKnows

[katharina]

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
Coral is far more red than her lifps red,
If snow be white, why then her breasts be dun
If haris be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have sen roses damaske'd, red and white
But no such roses see I in her cheeks
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Thank 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 yes, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As she belied with false compare.

___

I think this is my favorite because he truly sees her, and loves her for herself. What comliment is it to be loved when the lover is blinded by his own fantasies? In such cases, the vision is shredded by time and the lady, pale and vulnerable, is left to peak out from among the shreds and hope the love stays true. I'll have none of that. If he loves, he loves me for everything I am.

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: katharina on 2002-01-28 15:40 ]</font>

[MortalFool]

On 2002-01-28 15:38, katharina wrote:
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
Coral is far more red than her lifps red,
If snow be white, why then her breasts be dun
If haris be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have sen roses damaske'd, red and white
But no such roses see I in her cheeks
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Thank 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 yes, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As she belied with false compare.

___

I think this is my favorite because he truly sees her, and loves her for herself. What comliment is it to be loved when the lover is blinded by his own fantasies? In such cases, the vision is shredded by time and the lady, pale and vulnerable, is left to peak out from among the shreds and hope the love stays true. I'll have none of that. If he loves, he loves me for everything I am.

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: katharina on 2002-01-28 15:40 ]</font>

I like that one.

[subterranean]

This is one and only Shakespeare sonnets that I love


Sonnet 18

1 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
2 Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
3 Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
4 And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
5 Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
6 And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
7 And every fair from fair sometime declines,
8 By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
9 But thy eternal summer shall not fade
10 Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
11 Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
12 When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
13 So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
14 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

I love this very much

[Stanislaw]

My personal favourite is sonnet 73
Sonnet 73 –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 ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest 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 perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.”

[mono]

LXXV.

So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found;
Now proud as an enjoyer and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure,
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure;
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.

[subterranean]

O yes, i remember that one..That's a nice one also

[Falling_Embers]

My personal favourite is sonnet 73
Sonnet 73 –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 ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest 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 perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.”

Aye, I would have to agree on Sonnet 73, there is just something about it that I find enjoyable to ready and listen to...

[rocksea]

my favorite sonnet is sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
....

is my favorite too

[Gozeta]

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke ; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die.

By John Donne

Holy Sonnet X: Death, Be Not Proud

I loved this peom since high school. It rings true to my very soul.

[Helga]

they are all amazing to me and most of them make me cry for the beauty in them. but this one is my fave: XCII

XCIII.

So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place:
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.
In many's looks the false heart's history
Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange,
But heaven in thy creation did decree
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be,
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
if thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!


I also love this one:
XVII.

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies:
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.


I could find a new one that I love forever so I'll let these two do..

[mono]

I have read Shakespeare's sonnets over and over again, but I read this one the other day, and re-discovered a profound love for it:

CXXIII

No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change:
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old,
And rather make them born to our desire
Than think that we before have heard them told.
Thy registers and thee I both defy,
Not wondering at the present nor the past,
For thy records and what we see doth lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste.
This I do vow and this shall ever be;
I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee.

[Monica]

I had sonnets yesterday on my English literature classes. My fav one is No XVIII (Shall I compare thee to a summer's day) but my favourite line from all the sonnets is from No XVII

"If I could write the beauty of your eyes"

It knocks me out
Btw, did Shakespeare really write his sonnets to an actor? We had to read Oscar Wilde's "The Portrat of Mr W.H." where it's said that it is very possible.