William Shakespeare Poem Shall I Compare Thee Novels & Stories

"At the bustling sound of the frost early in the morning, I woke up from my sleep and it was still pitch black I sat by myself and gazed through my window at the moonlight that grows darker I worry the flowers I picked aside for my beloved will start to wither Under the stars in the long, long night Only the unfinished night seems to be passing. I see my beloved face from within those weeping willows. Even if I look and look at her, I don't seem to get enough. Even if she's standing under the bright moon in the dead of the night, the shadow of my beloved would come into my yard. A matchless beauty is left within my heart."

I began to bawl as cold death gripped my ribs. Their terrible song poured forth: Little flower of Hell, where the clear creek runs. Woodwind reeds grow on the Styx, in soil of blood. I go a witching down in the brine, digging a stick through the mud. Golden fish gleam, alight in the stream. I am a woman of mud. Whipporwill Therese, I have no King, only lovers I left in the lane. Two pence a heartache, three pence a distaff, the run of my fiber is blood.

Nelly… "'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'." He paused to kiss me again before continuing the Shakespeare poem softly against my lips. "But thy eternal summer shall not fade, nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st'." He pulled away to look at me. "I love you, cognaceyes." Mind sidetracked, I replied with a small smile.

It made me work harder for him, made me keep going when my jaw ached or I felt a little choked. I flooded him with liquid spilling from my mouth. He sat there like a king on his throne, relishing his might which was exactly who he was to me. A king. A god. A mighty man that I would die for. In recollection, I think of that line from one of Shake-speare’s sonnets: Being your slave, what should I do but tend upon the hours and times of your desire? But at the time there was no poetry save that of cock, spit and grunting, and the desire to take him fully in my throat. The desire to please him. To make him happy and proud of me.

******* Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. -William Shakespeare ******* Acting non chalant and trying to ignore his presence in the room, I stood there making circles at the satin fabric of my dress. "I said look at me. Don't act dumb." He chided like usual, roaring at the top of his throat, he is the perfect example of being manerless, and still expects from people complete obedience. However hard I try go resist him, not to be chided away or afraid from him, I don't know what hooks my heart to the core, I end up feeling extremely vulnerable and could not find any way out of the situation I am stuck into.

Taking the book from Alma, she found a passage from William Shakespeare's Hamlet; "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 take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them." To be or not to be Queen, that is the question. She read the passage out loud to Alma, "To die, to sleep; To sleep, perchance to dream—" She was cut off by the Prince who had entered the room and finished the passage for her,

(your love destroyed me, It broke me like that I died Nor I have left any desire to live Nor I wish to die This heart wants your togetherness Despite knowing it is impossible what ever it is asking for it pretends to be oblivious Your togetherness is not heaven Nor I am an angel But if you are with me I will imagine hell as heaven as well But the problem is You do not accept my togetherness And I can not accept anything except you " Shayari said thinking about her position in life (It is written by me, forgive me if I make mistakes in translation or in the poetry itself.) " Why do not you love me like I do Shauhar ji? Why? What crime have I committed? " Shayari screamed but got no answer ***

Young William suddenly pointed out. Melissa looked again and indeed, there's a card. She took it out and open it. Inside, the same beautiful penmanship from before had written one of the most beautiful poems Melissa had ever read. O my Luve is like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June; O my Luve is like the melody That's sweetly played in tune. So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Stacy remembered a poem she learned in her literature classes back in senior secondary. Unparalleled beauty, worth the praise a maiden,resembling a starry night beautiful to gaze,forbidden to touch a deadly weapon, to the mankind But in this case it was not maiden,but a man . Whose beauty was intoxicating,like a thousand old wine.This beauty was hers. Here's to corrupt,hers to own,here's to possess,hers to dominate and she couldn't be any happier.

"Oh God, stop you sound like a bad actor! 'Eternal devotion'? Who talks like that?" He pinned my wrists gently above my head, leaning down close, breath hot on my neck. "But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and you are the sun forgive this fool for his jealousy, my queen." "Queen? Okay, Shakespeare now? You're killing me, stop, I can't breathe!" I gasped between laughs, but tears were pricking too, happy ones, because he was trying so hard, being all sweet and gentle, not his usual gruff self.