Sonnet 54


Of this world’s theatre in which we stay, My love like the spectator idly sits, Beholding me, that all the pageants play, Disguising diversly my troubled wits. Sometimes I joy when glad occasion fits, And mask in mirth like to a comedy: Soon after, when my joy to sorrow flits, I wail, and make my woes a tragedy. Yet she, beholding me with constant eye, Delights not in my mirth nor rues my smart: But when I laugh she mocks, and when I cry She laughs, and hardens evermore her heart. What then can move her? If nor mirth nor moan, She is no woman, but a senseless stone.


Congratulations! Your recitation has been created. Let's wait and see what others think of your performance.

Now playing

sergey May 20, 2013 at 7:45am

This is awful and robratterman sucks!

Reply

robert-bobert May 21, 2013 at 3:10am

Yeah, this guy is just nuts!

robratterman May 21, 2013 at 3:12am

YOU BOTH ARE FIRED!!!

poemz recitations




No one has recorded this poem yet! Be the first!
more

or

Upload .mp3 file
or click here to cancel.

Please allow us to use your microphone...

Recording in progress

00:00

Please wait while we upload your record...

Review your performance