Best Shakespeare Sonnets
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Best Shakespeare Sonnets

Written by on | Shakespeare

Here is a list of my favourite Shakespeare sonnets. As is often the case with Stage Milk, the audacious title is backed by very little. Poetry is completely subjective and a deeply personal thing, so you may completely disagree. Shakespeare has 154 sonnets, so to pick a top 10 has not been easy. Anyway, I think this list should be a good starting point if you want to learn more about Shakespeare sonnets.

Here is the list of the best Shakespeare sonnets. If you have a personal favourite let us know in a comment below…

  • Sonnet 18
    1

    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 dimmed;
    And every fair from fair sometime declines,
    By chance or nature’s changing course untrimmed.
    But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
    Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
    Nor shall Death brag thou wand’rest 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.

  • Sonnet 116
    2

    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 wandering 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 proved,
        I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

  • Sonnet 104
    3


    To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
    For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
    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 seasons have I seen,
    Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned,
    Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
    Ah, yet doth beauty, like a dial hand,
    Steal from his figure and no pace perceived;
    So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
    Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived;
        For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred:
        Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead.

  • Sonnet 130
    4

    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.

  • Sonnet 129
    5

    The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
    Is lust in action, and, till action, lust
    Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
    Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
    Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight,
    Past reason hunted, and no sooner had
    Past reason hated as a swallowed bait
    On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
    Mad in pursuit and in possession so,
    Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme,
    A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe,
    Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
        All this the world well knows, yet none knows well
        To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

  • Sonnet 1
    6

    From fairest creatures we desire increase,
    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’s 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, mak’st waste in niggarding.
        Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
        To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.

  • Sonnet 65
    7

    Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
    But sad mortality o’ersways their power,
    How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
    Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
    O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out
    Against the wrackful 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 Time’s 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 in black ink my love may still shine bright.

  • Sonnet 75
    8

    So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
    Or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground;
    And for the peace of you I hold such strife
    As ‘twixt a miser and his wealth is found;
    Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
    Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
    Now counting best to be with you alone,
    Then better’d that the world may see my pleasure;
    Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
    And by and by clean starved for a look;
    Possessing or pursuing no delight
    Save what is had or must from you be took.
    Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
    Or gluttoning on all, or all away.

  • Sonnet 23
    9

    As an unperfect actor on the stage
    Who with his fear is put besides his part,
    Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
    Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;
    So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
    The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,
    And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,
    O’ercharged with burden of mine own love’s might.
    O, let my books be then the eloquence
    And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
    Who plead for love and look for recompense
    More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
       O, learn to read what silent love hath writ;
       To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.

  • Sonnet 80
    10

    O, how I faint when I of you do write,
    Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
    And in the praise thereof spends all his might
    To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.
    But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,
    The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
    My saucy bark inferior far to his
    On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
    Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat
    Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
    Or being wrecked, I am a worthless boat,
    He of tall building and of goodly pride.
        Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
        The worst was this: my love was my decay.


About the Author

StageMilk Team

is made up of young professional actors and writers from around the world. This team includes Andrew Hearle, Luke McMahon, Kyle Billings, Jim Harwood and many more. We all work together to contribute useful articles and resources for actors at all stages in their careers.

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