Stress Free Poetry

A woman’s face with Nature’s own hand painted  Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;  A woman’s gentle heart, but not acquainted  With shifting change, as is false women’s fashion;  An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,  Gilding the object whereupon it gaze-th;  A man in hue, all hues in his controlling,  Much steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amaze-th.  And for a woman wert thou first created;  Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,  And by addition me of thee defeated,  By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.      But since she prick’d thee out for women’s pleasure,      Mine be thy love and thy love’s use their treasure BY (WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE)

From fairest creature we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose never might die, But as the ripper should by time decrease, 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 the sweet self too cruel, Thou that art now world's fresh ornament, And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content, And tender, churl, makest waste in niggarding, Pity the world or else this glutton be, To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee. BY (WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE)