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Shakespeare, William

105

30 Septembre 2016 , Rédigé par Mermed Publié dans #Sonnets

Wisława Szymborska, 2 juillet 1923 - 1er février 2012.. Let not my love be called idolatry, Nor my beloved as an idol show, Since all alike my songs and praises be To one, of one, still such, and ever so. Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, Still...

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104

26 Septembre 2016 , Rédigé par Mermed Publié dans #Sonnets

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold, Have from the forests shook three summers' pride, Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned, In process of the...

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103

23 Septembre 2016 , Rédigé par Mermed Publié dans #Sonnets

Vénus au miroir Titien (1555 environ) lack! what poverty my Muse brings forth, That having such a scope to show her pride, The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside! O! blame me not, if I no more can write! Look in...

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102

20 Septembre 2016 , Rédigé par Mermed Publié dans #Sonnets

Philomèle changée en rossignol, sa soeur changée en hirondelle. My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming; I love not less, though less the show appear; That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming, The owner's tongue doth publish every...

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101

16 Septembre 2016 , Rédigé par Mermed Publié dans #Sonnets

Jamais, Will n'aima les maquillages, excepté ceux des mots... O truant Muse what shall be thy amends For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? Both truth and beauty on my love depends; So dost thou too, and therein dignified. Make answer Muse: wilt thou...

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100

12 Septembre 2016 , Rédigé par Mermed Publié dans #Sonnets

le temps faucheur... Where art thou Muse that thou forget'st so long, To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? Return forgetful Muse, and straight...

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99

10 Septembre 2016 , Rédigé par Mermed Publié dans #Sonnets

quelle autre fleur, ici? The forward violet thus did I chide: Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath? The purple pride Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells In my love's veins thou hast too grossly...

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98

2 Septembre 2016 , Rédigé par Mermed Publié dans #sonnets

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 every thing, That heavy Saturn laughed and leapt with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in...

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