Sonnet Lxxxi
William Shakespeare
Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal life shall have, Though I, once gone, to all the world must die: The earth can yield me but a common grave, When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. Your monument shall be my gentle verse, Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, And tongues to be your being shall rehearse When all the breathers of this world are dead; You still shall live--such virtue hath my pen-- Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
Next 10 Poems
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxxii
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxxiii
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxxiv
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxxix
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxxv
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxxvi
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxxvii
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxxviii
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet V
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Vi
Previous 10 Poems
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxx
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxviii
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxvii
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxvi
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxv
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxix
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxiv
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxiii
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxii
- William Shakespeare : Sonnet Lxxi