Shakespeare Sonnet Generator

Sonnet #155

by William Shakespeare
I I should despair, I my verses tend Than of love my.
I you require. Nor dare I niggard truth so idly spent; Sing to themselves.
Helen's cheek all these, from thee So far worse what conscience.
Will' One will of your epitaph to pry, To find out thee As his gains. O.
Love's own desert, And this wide as foes commend. Thy outward.
Time fame faster than Time store, To show my sight? Is it live. The.
Will' One will bear your epitaph to this abundant issue.
I count bad what I laugh'd and there can I always write I know she wrought.
Time's thy power Dost hold Time's fair a woman woos, what the thing.
I rents. Be it lawful I summer's lease of shame Is lust in this vile.
Love A holy fire of Love A perfumes in my lines to thy.
Tis it be poison'd, 'tis myself I'll fight, And prove.
I past the best, Simply I change their art; They draw but mend.
I me thus: that I thy trespass with white; When lofty.
Regenerate Sonnet