HomeWilliam ShakespeareSonnets

Sonnet 108. Shakespeare

What's in the brain, that ink may character,
Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what now to register,
That may express my love, or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must each day say o'er the very same;
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case,
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page;
    Finding the first conceit of love there bred,
    Where time and outward form would show it dead.

William Shakespeare, 1598

Sonnet 108. First edition of Shakespeare's Sonnets, 1609.

Sonnet 108. First edition of Shakespeare's Sonnets, 1609.

The end of the sonnet 108.

The end of the sonnet 108.

Next page →

← 108 page Sonnets 110 page →
Pages:  101  102  103  104  105  106  107  108  109  110  111  112  113  114  115  116  117  118  119  120 
Overall 155 pages


© elibrary.club
feedback