Sonnet LXYI

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,

And guilded honour shamefully misplaced

And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,

And right perfection shamefully disgraced,

And strength by limping sway disabled,

And art made tongue-tied by authority,

And folly doctor-like controlling skill,

And simple truth miscalled simplicity,

And captive good attending captain ill:

Tired with all these, from these would I be gone

Save that, to die, I

W. Shakespeare

Sonnet CXYI

Let me not to the marriageof true minds

Admit impediments

Love is not love which alters when it alterations finds

Or bends with the remover to remove

Оh, no, it is an ever fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken

It is the star to every wandering bark ]

Whose worths unknown athough his heights be taken

Love’s not Time’s fool though rosy lips cheeks

Whithin his bending sickles compass come

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks

But bears itout even to the edge of Doom

If this be error and upon me proved

I never writ, no no man ever loved W. Shakespeare.

Sonnet CXXX.

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 damask'd, 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 pleasant 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.

P.B.Shelly "The Cloud":

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,

From the seas and the streams;

I bear light shade for the leaves when laid

In their noonday dreams.

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken

The sweet buds every one,

When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,

As she dances about the sun.

I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

And whiten the green plains under,

And then again I dissolve it in rain,

And laugh as I pass in thunder.

R.Kipling IF

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good nor talk too wise:

If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;

If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss.

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew.

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours in the Earth and everything that's in it,

And — which is more — you'll be a Man, my son!