The Motivational Adda

Sonnet 65: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no longer than a flower? O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays? O fearful meditation! where, alack, Shall time's best jewel from times chest lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? O, none, unless this miracle have might, That is black ink mt love may still shine bright. - William Shakespeare Theme: Sonnet 65 is the continuation of sonnet 64, in these sonnets, Shakespeare depicted the endless ravage of time on love and life. For him, Time is the ultimate destroyer, it destroys everything that anyone thinks is endless. The clutches of time are destructive, it des

A Fairy Song (Sonnet) Full Explanation, Theme, and Related Questions:- Sonnet Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire! I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moon's sphere; And I serve the Fairy Queen, To dew her orbs upon the green; The cowslips tall her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, fairy favours; In those freckles live their savours; I must go seek some dewdrops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. -William Shakespeare Theme: The poem is all about a fairy serving the fairy queen. Her job is to make everything pretty and put  dew  drops over the cowslips. It is obvious that the theme of this poem is the  life  and job of a fairy. Explanation: Links You May Link: Poetry: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Poetry Sonnets: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Sonnet Rober

The Phoenix And The Turtle Full Poem With Theme:- Let the bird of loudest lay On the sole Arabian tree Herald sad and trumpet be, To whose sound chaste wings obey. But thou shrieking harbinger, Foul precursor of the fiend, Augur of the fever's end, To this troop come thou not near. From this session interdict Every fowl of tyrant wing, Save the eagle, feather'd king; Keep the obsequy so strict. Let the priest in surplice white, That defunctive music can, Be the death-divining swan, Lest the requiem lack his right. And thou treble-dated crow, That thy sable gender mak'st With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st, 'Mongst our mourner's shalt thou go. Here the anthem doth commence: Love and constancy is dead; Phoenix and the Turtle fled In a mutual flame from hence. So they lov'd, as love in twain Had the essence but in one; Two distinct, division none: The number there in love was slain. Hearts remote, yet not asunder; Distance and no space was see

O, never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seemed my flame to qualify. As easy might I from my self depart As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie. That is my home of love; if I have ranged, Like him that travels I return again, Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, So that myself bring water for my stain. Never believe though in my nature reigned All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, That it could so preposterously be stained To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; For nothing this wide universe I call Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all .                                          -  William Shakespeare

So oft have I invoked thee for my muse, And found such fair assistance in my verse, As every alien pen hath got my use, And under thee their poesy disperse. Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, Have added feathers to the learnèd’s wing And given grace a double majesty. Yet be most proud of that which I compile, Whose influence is thine and born of thee. In others’ works thou dost but mend the style, And arts with thy sweet graces gracèd be; But thou art all my art, and dost advance As high as learning my rude ignorance.                                           - William  Shakespeare

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.  O no! it is an ever-fixed mark  That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  It is the star to every wand'ring bark,  Whose worth's unknown, although his 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 error and upon me prov'd,  I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.                            - William Shakespeare

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all: What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call— All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest; But yet be blamed if thou this self deceivest By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robb’ry, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my poverty; And yet love knows it is a greater grief To bear love’s wrong than hate’s known injury.     Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,     Kill me with spites, yet we must not be foes.                               - William Shakespeare

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 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.                             - William  Shakespeare

SONNET 52 So am I as the rich, whose blessed key, Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.   Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since, seldom coming in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet. So is the time that keeps you as my chest, Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, To make some special instant special-blest, By new unfolding his imprisoned pride.     Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,     Being had, to triumph, being lacked, to hope.              - William Shakespeare

My 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 roses damasked, red and white,  But no such roses see I in her cheeks;  And in some perfumes is there more delight  Than 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 yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare     As any she belied with false compare.             - William Shakespeare

When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,  And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,  Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:  Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,  Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;  To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes, Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise. How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use, If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine  Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,'  Proving his beauty by succession thine!  This were to be new made when thou art old,  And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.                                    - William Shakespeare Theme: The speaker pleas on behalf of common sense and logic and aims directly for the conscience of the subject - the presumed fair youth - hoping to persuade him to have children and thus preserve his bea

SONNET - 1 That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,  But as the riper should by time decease,  His tender heir might bear his memory:  But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,  Feed’st thy light’st flame with self-substantial fuel,  Making a famine where abundance lies,  Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.  Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament  And only herald to the gaudy spring,  Within thine own bud buriest thy content  And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.  Pity the world, or else this glutton be, To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.                                                         - William  Shakespeare Links You May Like: Poetry: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Poetry Sonnets: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search/label/Sonnet William Shakespeare Sonnets: https://themotivationaladda.blogspot.com/search?q=william+shakespeare+sonnets

The Seven Ages of a man  All the world's a stage  And all the men and women merely players:  They have their exits and their entrances;  And one man in his time plays many parts,  His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,  Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.  Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel  And shining morning face, creeping like snail  Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,  Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad  Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier.  Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,  Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,  Seeking the bubble reputation  Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,  In fair round belly with good capon lined,  With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,  Full of wise saws and modem instances;  And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts  Into the lean and slippered Pantaloon,  With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,

Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath steel’d, Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein ’tis held, And perspective it is best painter’s art. For through the painter must you see his skill, To find where your true image pictured lies, Which in my bosom’s shop is hanging still, That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, They draw but what they see, know not the heart.                                                           - William Shakespeare

When thou shalt be disposed to set me light, And place my merit in the eye of scorn, Upon thy side against myself I'll fight, And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn. With mine own weakness being best acquainted, Upon thy part I can set down a story Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attained, That thou in losing me shalt win much glory: And I by this will be a gainer too; For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, The injuries that to myself I do, Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.    Such is my love, to thee I so belong,    That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.                                        - William Shakespeare

SONNET 98 From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer’s story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight Drawn after you, – you pattern of all those.     Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,     As with your shadow I with these did play.                                         - William Shakespeare

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 possessed, 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 remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings. - William Shakespeare Summary And Theme : According To Gradesaver.com , In the Sonnet 'When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes' . The emotional state of the speaker is one of depression: in the first line, he assumes himself to be "in disgrace with fortune," meaning he has

Not marble nor the gilded monuments Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword nor war’s quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. ’Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom.     So, till the Judgement that yourself arise,     You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes.                                         - William Shakespeare