Which one keeps calling?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

Every flower stole its color and scent from you—what happens to the garden if you disappear?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

I'll confess my worst faults to make you look virtuous—why would love trade its defense for your honor?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

If you must leave me, do it now—delayed goodbyes are crueller than sudden ones.

Shakespeare's Sonnets

Absence can make April feel like winter—how can every bloom be only a shadow of you?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

Your beauty needed no painting; my silence became its strange praise—how can saying nothing turn into a compliment?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

My love speaks last but stands first: why do my silent thoughts outrank their polished praise?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

My life is measured by your love—could you betray me and I still call that living?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

When others borrow your grace, who truly earns the praise—your beauty or the poet who borrows it?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

You turn faults into ornaments: what danger hides when charm makes deceit look like grace?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

When praise perfumes a blot, who will point out the stain?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

I value you above wealth and rank—yet the thought you might leave makes me utterly wretched.

Shakespeare's Sonnets

Don't gild her: plain, true words suit her better than any painted praise—who decided otherwise?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

I feast on you one moment and starve for a look the next—how can love become both gluttony and famine?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

My absence turned summer to winter; even summer's abundance felt orphaned without you—why does joy go mute?

Shakespeare's Sonnets

When your countenance filled up his line, my verse ran dry—how does another's praise make my voice vanish?