Tag Archives: William Shakespeare

“That Time Of Year..”

…from the quills of the dead white poets William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616) (From “Sonnets”, LXXIII) That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against … Continue reading

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When daffodils begin to peer

  …from the quills of the dead white poets William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616) When daffodils begin to peer, — With hey! The doxy over the dale, — Why, then comes in the sweet o’ the year; For the red … Continue reading

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Where the bee sucks…

…from the quills of the dead white poets William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616) Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip’s bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat’s back I do fly … Continue reading

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No longer mourn for me

…from the quills of the dead white poets William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616) No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From … Continue reading

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Over hill over dale

… from the quills of dead white poets William Shakespeare ( 1564 – 1616 ) Over hill, over dale, Through bush, through briar, Over park, over pale, Through blood, through fire, I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moone’s sphere; … Continue reading

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Antony’s First Meeting with Cleopatra

  …from the quills of the dead white poets    William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)    The barge she sat in, like a burnish’d throne,  Burn’d on the water; the poop was beaten gold:  Purple the sails, and so perfumed … Continue reading

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To be, or not to be…

 …from the quills of the dead white poets William Shakespeare (1564 -1616)   To be, or not to be: that is the question:  Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer  The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,  Or to … Continue reading

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Tired with all these…

…from the quills of the dead white poet William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)  Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,- As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, … Continue reading

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Imagination

…from the quills of the dead white poets  William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)  The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, Are of imagination all compact; One sees more devils than vast held can hold, That is, the madman; the lover, … Continue reading

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