Shakespeare is the most outstanding dramatist in the history of British literature, one of the most outstanding writers in the history of Western literature and art, and one of the most outstanding writers in the world. His surviving works include 37 plays, 155 sonnets, two long narrative poems and other poems. His plays have been translated into every major language and have been performed far more often than those of any other dramatist. Below is a classic sonnet from Shakespeare that I brought to you. I hope you like it!
Shakespeare’s classic sonnet:
When in the chronicle of wasted time
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I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then , in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have express'd
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Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they look'd but with divine eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.
When I discovered the portrait of that peerless romantic figure from the distant ancient chronology,
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Beautiful colors make ancient songs also fragrant,
praising passionate knights and desperate beauties,
So, from those descriptions of the beauty of the country, < /p>
No matter the hands, feet, lips, eyes or eyebrows,
I find that what those ancient pens express
is exactly the beauty you occupy now.
So their praise is nothing more than prophecy
In our time, everything predicts you;
But they only observe with the eyes of imagination,
I am not talented enough to sing your praises to the fullest:
And we, fortunately, have seen today with our own eyes,
We only have eyes to admire, but no tongue to chant.
Shakespeare’s classic sonnet:
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assured
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes,
Since, in spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes:
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.
Neither my own worries, nor the prophetic soul dreaming of
the vast world of the future,
can limit the lease of my true love. ,
Even if it is destined to be a compensation for fate.
The human moon has survived the disaster of eclipse,
Ominous divination mocks its own predictions,
Unrest and doubt have been insured,
Peace declares that the olive branches will always be green.
So in this age, the dew is sprinkled everywhere,
My love takes on a new look, and death surrenders,
Since I will live in this humble work , let him
insult those stupid and speechless races.
Here you will find your monument,
The devil's golden helmet and bronze tomb were destroyed.
Shakespeare's classic sonnet:
What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new 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.
What is in my head can be described with words,
Hasn’t my sincerity already described it to you?
Is there anything new that can be said or recorded? ,
To express my love or your true value?
No, be good; but, the devout prayer
Not a day goes by that I don’t repeat it Say it again;
The old saying is not old; you belong to me and I belong to you,
Just like the first day I blessed your name.
So eternal love is in the evergreen love box
It will not suffer the damage and dust of age,
It will not let wrinkles take their rightful place ,
Instead, I regard old time as a permanent domestic slave;
I realize that the original love seedling still needs to be maintained,
Even though time and appearance hope that it will wither and turn yellow. .