William Shakespeare, the great Renaissance playwright and poet, left us not only tragedies and comedies but also deeply lyrical poems dedicated to female beauty, love, and the fickleness of emotion. His sonnets addressed to the "Fair Lady" became a benchmark for love poetry, extolling her virtues and lamenting her coldness. In these poems, Shakespeare explores the complexities of human relationships, using rich language and exquisite metaphors. This collection offers a look at female characters in his work, from idealized beauty to earthly passions and tragic fates.<\/p>\n
\nShall 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 un-trimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nSonnet 20: The spirit doth abuse my purposed sight<\/h2>\n
\nThe spirit doth abuse my purposed sight, And makes me see what reason bids me shun. For in your face, a beauty so alight, Doth gender where no gender should have run. You are a man, yet fairer than the rose, And softer than the downy cheek of youth. My love, a strange and troubled current flows, Confusing nature with a feigned truth. But 'tis your art, your grace, your gentle guise, That steals my heart and leads my judgment astray. A wondrous work, before my longing eyes, Where masculine form doth display feminine. And yet, I know this passion is in vain, For nature's law doth hold a stricter reign.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nSonnet 29: When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes<\/h2>\n
\nWhen, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my woeful cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Yet in spite of all my soul doth hold A treasure rich, a comfort past: To think of thee, more precious far than gold, And all my woes are instantly laid bare. For when I think of your sweet face and grace, My spirit leaps, and all my sorrows cease. I would not change your love for any place, Nor for the wealth that brings a false release. Thus, in thy love, my fortune finds its mend, And I, content, my humble journey wend.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nSonnet 116: Let me not to the marriage of true minds<\/h2>\n
\nLet 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, his although height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy 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 an error and upon me proved, I ne'er writ, nor no man ever loved.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nSonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun<\/h2>\n
\nMy mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen goddesses walk, which were not so fair; Yet by heaven, I think my love as rare As those to whom we've given our praise and care. She hat no art to make her beauty appear. And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare. I love her still, though beauty's claim she lacks, And in her truth, my heart forever tracks.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nA Woman's Face<\/h2>\n
\nHer face, a garden where the shadows play, Doth hold a bloom that steals the heart away. A subtle grace in every line is shown, A silent language, to my soul well known. Her eyes, twin stars that glimmer in the night, Reflect a wisdom, and a gentle light. Her lips, like cherries, tempting and so sweet, Invite a kiss, a solace and retreat. But 'tis the spirit, dwelling deep within, That truly captivates, and doth begin To weave a spell, a bond that shall endure, A love unwavering, forever pure.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nThe Lady's Sigh<\/h2>\n
\nA sigh escapes her lips, a whispered plea, A hidden sorrow, known alone to me. What troubled thoughts within her bosom lie? What secret grief doth dim her sparkling eye? I yearn to soothe her pain, to ease her care, To banish shadows, and to comfort there. But she remains a mystery, veiled and bright, A distant star, beyond my eager sight. And yet, that sigh, though fraught with melancholy, Doth stir my soul with passion, strong and holy.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nHer Silent Grace<\/h2>\n
\nNo need for words, her presence doth suffice, A silent grace, a captivating vice. She moves with ease, a queen among her peers, And casts a spell that conquers all my fears. Her gentle touch, a fire upon my skin, Awakens passions that have long been within. I lose myself within her tender gaze, And wander lost in love's enchanting maze.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nA Portrait in Time<\/h2>\n
\nThough years may pass, and seasons come and go, Her beauty shall within my memory grow. A portrait painted by the hand of time, A masterpiece, eternally sublime. The lines upon her face, a story tell, Of joys and sorrows, she has known so well. But in her eyes, a youthful spark remains, A testament to love that still sustains.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nThe Unreachable Star<\/h2>\n
\nShe shines afar, a star beyond my reach, A distant dream, a silent, hopeful speech. I strive to climb, to bridge the vast divide, But find myself forever cast aside. And yet, I gaze upon her radiant light, And draw my strength from her celestial might. For even though I cannot claim her own, Her beauty fills my world, and makes it known.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nA Winter's Rose<\/h2>\n
\nAmidst the frost, a rose doth bravely bloom, A fragile beauty, conquering winter's gloom. So is my love, a beacon in the night, A warming fire, a source of pure delight. Though storms may rage, and shadows may descend, Her gentle spirit shall forever lend A strength to me, a courage to endure, A love unwavering, eternally pure.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nThe Weaver of Dreams<\/h2>\n
\nHer hands, like spiders, weave a silken thread, Creating dreams within my weary head. She spins a tale of wonder and of grace, And transports me to a magical place. I lose myself within her artful guise, And wander lost beneath enchanted skies. A weaver of dreams, a sorceress divine, She holds my heart within her gentle shrine.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nA Fleeting Glance<\/h2>\n
\nA fleeting glance, a moment caught in time, Her eyes met mine, a spark, a love sublime. A silent promise, whispered on the breeze, A longing heart, that finds no lasting ease. She turned away, and vanished from my sight, Leaving me lost within the fading light. But in my soul, her image shall remain, A cherished memory, easing all my pain.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nThe Echo of Her Voice<\/h2>\n
\nThe echo of her voice, a haunting sound, Doth linger still, where memories abound. A melody of sweetness and of grace, That fills my heart, and lights up all my space. I close my eyes, and listen once again, To hear her words, and feel her gentle reign. A voice that soothes, a voice that sets me free, A voice that whispers, "You belong to me."\"\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n\nHer Shadow's Dance<\/h2>\n
\nHer shadow dances on the moonlit wall, A fleeting form, responding to my call. A phantom image, beautiful and strange, That stirs my soul, and sets my heart aflame. I reach for her, but she eludes my grasp, A wisp of smoke, a moment meant to lapse. And yet, I watch her shadow's graceful sway, And dream of her until the break of day.\n <\/pre>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"William Shakespeare, the great playwright and poet of the Renaissance, left us not only tragedies and comedies, but also deeply lyrical poems,<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[71],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-173506","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-stihi"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/173506","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=173506"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/173506\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":174453,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/173506\/revisions\/174453"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=173506"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=173506"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bukvaved.top\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=173506"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}