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Those lines that I before have writ do lie,Even those that said I could not love you dearer:Yet then my judgment knew no reason whyMy most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. But reckoning Time, whose million'd accidentsCreep in 'twixt vows, and...

Or whether doth my mind, being crowned with you, Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery? Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true, And that your love taught it this alchemy, To make of monsters and things indigest Such cherubins as your sweet...

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;And that which governs me to go aboutDoth part his function and is partly blind,Seems seeing, but effectually is out; For it no form delivers to the heartOf bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch:Of his...

Your love and pity doth the impression fill, Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow; For what care I who calls me well or ill, So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow? You are my all-the-world, and I must strive To know my shames and praises from your...

Portrait du peintre Hans Burgkmair avec son épouse Anna (1527) Lucas Furtenagel O! for my sake do you with* Fortune chide,The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,That did not better for my life provideThan public means which public manners breeds Thence...

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 beTo one, of one, still such, and ever so. Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,Still constant...

Théâtre le Globe, tel qu'il était. Alas! 'tis true, I have gone here and there,And made my self a motley to the view,Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,Made old offences of affections new; Most true it is, that I have looked on truthAskance...

Dans le pays de Bresse se déroule chaque année, au début du mois d’Août un événement considérable, un festival de théâtre, oui vous avez bien lu, du théâtre, au pays du poulet… Non seulement - non solo (je traduis pour les non-francophones) - les lieux...

O! never say that I was false of heart,Though absence seemed my flame to qualify,As easy might I from my self departAs from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: That is my home of love: if I have ranged,Like him that travels, I return again;Just to the...

What's in the brain that ink may characterWhich hath not figured to thee my true spirit?What's new to speak, what now to register,That may express my love, or thy dear merit? Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,I must each day say o'er the...

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