Poesia Inglese

Shakespeare William

Being your slave, what should I do but tend...

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took...

Farewell, thou art too dear for my possessing...

How can my muse want subject to invent...

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought...

Let those who are in favor with their stars...

Like as to make our appetites more keen...

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war...

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done...

O how thy worth with manners may I sing...

O never say that I was false of heart...

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day...?

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind...

So am I as the rich whose blessèd key...

So are you to my thoughts as food to life...

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill...

Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now...

Those lines that I before have writ do lie...

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed...

When I have seen by time's fell hand defaced...

When in disgrace with fortune and men'eyes...

When thou shalt be disposed to set me light...

Why didst thou promise such a beateous day...

Spenser Edmund

One day I wrote her name upon the strand...

Wyatt Thomas

I find no peace, and all my war is done...