Poetry, fiction, novels and translations — a literary department for original voices, classic works and writing that crosses cultures.
Cosmo’s Art & Literature desk brings together poetry, storytelling, novels and translated literature, with room for both established classics and original writing.
My inner self turned into a black hole Which is growing bigger and bigger with time That can neither cry nor shout What it can do is breathe Within the tiny spaces of my breaths
Read story →There were numerous letters Which were sent empty and unscripted. There were many unexplainable pains Which he couldn’t write, And I couldn’t read.
Read story →Great Expectations, published in 1861, follows Pip from childhood through a life transformed by unexpected financial support and social ambition.,Dickens combines suspense, humor and social criticism while asking what makes a person honorable after circumstances change. n
Read story →Published in 1865, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland follows Alice through a world where familiar rules of language, identity and logic repeatedly shift.,The book’s imaginative wordplay and illustrations helped establish it as a landmark of children’s literature that continues to invite adult interpretation. n
Read story →Dracula is told through journals, letters and records, creating a fragmented narrative that gradually reveals the threat surrounding Jonathan Harker, Mina Murray and their companions.,The novel’s influence extends across literature, theatre and cinema, while its original public-domain text remains widely available in digital libraries. n
Read story →First published in 1813, Pride and Prejudice follows Elizabeth Bennet as she navigates family expectations, social rank and her own changing understanding of Mr Darcy.,Its enduring appeal comes from the balance of romance and social observation, carried by Austen’s sharp dialogue and carefully drawn characters. n
Read story →Mary Shelley published Frankenstein in 1818, creating one of the defining works of Gothic and early science fiction. The novel follows Victor Frankenstein and the being he brings to life, but its deepest questions concern responsibility, isolation and the limits of human ambition.,This Cosmo feature is an original editorial introduction, not a reproduction of a […]
Read story →Poetry gives language room to breathe. A few carefully chosen words can carry memory, place and emotion across generations.,Poetry, fiction, novels and translations will each have room for their own voices. n
Read story →Ah! now I’ve studied, to my sorrow, philosophy, and law, and medicine too, and alas! theology, n From end to end, with ardent labour; and here I stick, as wise, poor fool, as when my course began. n And lo! they call me Master, nay, Doctor, and I’ve been these ten years going up and […]
Read story →The Master said, Is it not pleasant to have friends coming from distant quarters? n Is it not a pleasure to learn with a constant perseverance and application? n Is he not a man of complete virtue, who feels no discomposure though men may take no note of him? n
Read story →All that we are is the result of what we have thought: it is founded on our thoughts, it is made up of our thoughts. n If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him, as the wheel follows the foot of the ox that draws the carriage. n If a […]
Read story →Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night hath flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight: n And Lo! the Hunter of the East hath caught the Sultan’s Turret in a Noose of Light. n Dreaming when Dawn’s Left Hand was in the Sky I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry, n
Read story →My mind is bent to tell of bodies changed by forces of the gods, and to trace the forms assumed from the first origin of the world. n Since you, ye gods, are the authors of these changes, favour my attempt and guide my song from the beginning of creation. n
Read story →Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc’d by fate, and haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate, n Expell’d and exil’d, left the Trojan shore. Long labours, both by sea and land, he bore, n And in the doubtful war, before he won the Latian realm, and built the destin’d town. n
Read story →Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightforward pathway had been lost sight of. n Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say what was this forest savage, rough, and stern, which in my very thought renews the fear. n So bitter is it, […]
Read story →The man, for wisdom’s various arts renown’d, long exercised in woes, O Muse! resound; n Who, when his arms had wrought the destined fall of sacred Troy, and razed her heaven-built wall, n Wandering through climes, where’er the Muse had led, the manners learn’d of men, and cities read. n
Read story →Achilles’ wrath, to Greece the direful spring of woes unnumber’d, heavenly goddess, sing! n That wrath which hurl’d to Pluto’s gloomy reign the souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain. n Whose limbs unburied on the naked shore devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore. n
Read story →The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, published in 1892, brought readers a collection of cases narrated by Dr Watson. Holmes solves mysteries through observation, reasoning and attention to details that others overlook.,The collection remains one of the landmark works of detective fiction and is widely available in public-domain editions. n
Read story →Three hundred and forty-eight years, six months, and nineteen days ago to-day, the Parisians awoke to the sound of all the bells in the triple circuit of the city, the university, and the town ringing a full peal. n The sixth of January, 1482, is not, however, a day of which history has preserved the […]
Read story →On the 24th of February, 1815, the look-out at Notre-Dame de la Garde signalled the three-master, the Pharaon from Smyrna, Trieste, and Naples. n As usual, a pilot put off immediately, and rounding the Château d’If, got on board the vessel between Cape Morgiou and Rion island. n Immediately, and according to custom, the ramparts […]
Read story →The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn. n From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on […]
Read story →3 May. Bistritz.—Left Munich at 8.35 p.m. on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6.46, but train was an hour late. n Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I got of it from the train and the little I could walk through the streets. n The […]
Read story →The stranger came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down, walking from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. n He was wrapped up from head to foot, and the brim of […]
Read story →No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man’s and yet as mortal as his own. n That men as busy as themselves about their various concerns would scrutinise and study, perhaps almost as narrowly as a […]
Read story →The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us. n His pale grey eyes shone and twinkled, and his usually pale face was flushed and animated. n The fire burned brightly, and the soft radiance of the incandescent lights in the lilies of silver […]
Read story →The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home. n First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and […]
Read story →When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. n It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. n Her hair was yellow, and her face was […]
Read story →Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife. n Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made […]
Read story →"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying on the rug. n "It's so dreadful to be poor!" sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress. n "I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy, with an injured […]
Read story →You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. n That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. n That is […]
Read story →"Tom!" No answer. "TOM!" No answer. "What's gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!" No answer. n The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the room; then she put them up and looked out under them. n She seldom or never looked through them for so small a thing […]
Read story →Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. n It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating […]
Read story →Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. n The street is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and an elm-tree, of wide circumference, […]
Read story →It is a little remarkable, that—though disinclined to talk overmuch of myself and my affairs at the fireside, and to my personal friends—an autobiographical impulse should twice in my life have taken possession of me, in addressing the public. n The fact is, that this same impulse has become a ruling passion with me, and […]
Read story →In the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily in the farmhouses—and even great ladies, clothed in silk and thread-lace, had their toy spinning-wheels of polished oak—there might be seen in districts far away among the lanes, or deep in the bosom of the hills, certain pallid undersized men. n By the side of the brawny […]
Read story →Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress. n Her hand and wrist were so finely formed that she could wear sleeves not less bare of style than those in which the Blessed Virgin appeared to Italian painters. n Her profile as well as her stature […]
Read story →Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse. n And in this workhouse was born; on a day and […]
Read story →It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it […]
Read story →My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, I called myself with my infant tongue Pip, and came to be called Pip. n So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip. I give Pirrip as my father's family name, on the authority of my tombstone and my sister—Mrs. Joe […]
Read story →1801—I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society. n A perfect misanthropist’s Heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff […]
Read story →There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further outdoor exercise was now out of the question. n I […]
Read story →It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. n However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding […]
Read story →Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. n The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. n And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was […]
Read story →About the year 1727, just at the time of a great earthquake in New England, there lived near this place a meagre, miserly fellow, of the name of Tom Walker. n He had a wife as miserly as himself; they were so miserly that they even conspired to cheat each other. n Whatever the woman […]
Read story →Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy. n A series of misfortunes had reduced him to poverty, but he retained the pride of his ancestry, and was extremely sensitive to the subject of his former prosperity. n He […]
Read story →I was sick—sick unto death with that long agony; and when at length they unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me. n The sentence—the dread sentence of death—was the last distinct accentuation which reached my ears. n After that, the sound of the inquisitorial voices merged […]
Read story →Young Goodman Brown came forth at sunset, into the street at Salem village; but put his head back, after crossing the threshold, to exchange a parting kiss with his young wife. n And Faith, as the wife was aptly named, thrust her own pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pink […]
Read story →The mental features discoursed of as the analytical, are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis. n We appreciate them only in their effects. We know of them, among other things, that they are always to their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source of the liveliest enjoyment. n As the strong man exults in his […]
Read story →At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 18—, I was enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and a meerschaum, in company with my friend C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back library, or book-closet, au troisième, No. 33, Rue Dunôt, Faubourg St. Germain. n For one hour at least we […]
Read story →The 'Red Death' had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. n Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the redness and the horror of blood. n There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. n
Read story →'Halloa! Below there!' When he heard a voice thus calling to him, he was standing at the door of his box, with a flag in his hand, rolled round his hand. n One of the men who work the trains, and who was coming up the line, had called to him. n
Read story →Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the Giant's garden. n It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke into delicate blossoms of […]
Read story →High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. n He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt. n He was very much admired indeed. 'He is as beautiful as […]
Read story →Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death. n It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. n Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, […]
Read story →A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down into the swift water twenty feet below. n The man's hands were behind his back, the wrists bound with a cord. A rope closely encircled his neck. n It was attached to a stout cross-timber above his head and the slack fell to […]
Read story →It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral halls for the summer. n A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house, and reach the height of romantic felicity—but that would be asking too much of fate! n Still I will proudly declare that there is […]
Read story →She was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as if by an error of Fate, into a family of employees. n She had no dowry, no expectations, no means of becoming known, understood, loved, or wedded by a rich and distinguished man; and she let herself be married off to a little clerk […]
Read story →In the very olden time there lived a semi-barbaric king, whose ideas, though somewhat polished and sharpened by the progressiveness of distant Latin neighbours, were still large, florid, and untrammelled, as became the half of him which was barbaric. n He was a man of exuberant fancy, and, withal, of an authority so irresistible that, […]
Read story →Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnum Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly. n Father and son were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils that it even provoked […]
Read story →'My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel,' said a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; 'in the meantime you must try and put up with me.' n Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. n […]
Read story →In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called 'places.' n These 'places' make strange angles and curves. One street crosses itself a block away. n
Read story →One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. n Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. n Three times Della […]
Read story →The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. n You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. n At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely […]
Read story →For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. n Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. n Yet, mad am I not—and very surely do I not dream. n
Read story →During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country; n and at length found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view […]
Read story →TRUE!—nervous—very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? n The disease had sharpened my senses—not destroyed—not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. n I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, […]
Read story →Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! n
Read story →Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear n
Read story →She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love. n
Read story →Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray: And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child. n
Read story →I heard a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. n
Read story →The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;— Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! n
Read story →Five years have past; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a soft inland murmur.—Once again n
Read story →When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!' So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep. n
Read story →'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, The children walking two & two, in red & blue & green, Grey headed beadles walk’d before with wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of Paul’s they like Thames’ waters flow. n
Read story →O Rose, thou art sick! The invisible worm, That flies in the night In the howling storm: n
Read story →I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. n
Read story →I wander thro’ each charter’d street, Near where the charter’d Thames does flow. And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. n
Read story →Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life & bid thee feed, By the stream & o’er the mead; n
Read story →The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the Ocean, The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; n
Read story →An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying King— Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow Through public scorn,—mud from a muddy spring— Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know, n
Read story →I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. n
Read story →Swiftly walk o'er the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight, n
Read story →The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom— Now lending splendour, where from secret springs n
Read story →O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, n
Read story →I weep for Adonais—he is dead! Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head! And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years n
Read story →Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert— That from Heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart n
Read story →St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was! The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold: n
Read story →When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain; n
Read story →Swiftly walk over the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where, all the long and lone daylight, thou art hid, n
Read story →Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. n
Read story →O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has wither'd from the Lake, And no birds sing. n
Read story →Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, n
Read story →No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; n
Read story →Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: n
Read story →My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: n
Read story →Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; n
Read story →Lo! 'tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, n
Read story →The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and seared— It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; n
Read story →Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, n
Read story →Hear the sledges with the bells— Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, n
Read story →Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow— You are not wrong, who deem n
Read story →Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore n
Read story →It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; n
Read story →Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
Read story →The little Love-god lying once asleep Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand n
Read story →Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep: A maid of Dian's this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; n
Read story →In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn In vowing new hate after new love bearing. n
Read story →Love is too young to know what conscience is; Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove: n
Read story →O, from what power hast thou this powerful might With insufficiency my heart to sway? To make me give the lie to my true sight And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? n
Read story →Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not When I against myself with thee partake? Do I not think on thee, when I forgot Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake? n
Read story →O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head Which have no correspondence with true sight! Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, That censures falsely what they see aright? n
Read story →My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill The uncertain sickly appetite to please. n
Read story →Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth [ ] these rebel powers that thee array; Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? n
Read story →Those lips that Love's own hand did make Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate' To me that languish'd for her sake; But when she saw my woeful state, n
Read story →Two loves I have of comfort and despair Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill. n
Read story →Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch One of her feather'd creatures broke away Sets down her babe and makes an swift dispatch In pursuit of the thing she would have stay, n
Read story →Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving: O, but with mine compare thou thine own state And thou shalt find it merits not reproving; n
Read story →In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes For they in thee a thousand errors note; But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise Who in despite of view is pleased to dote; n
Read story →Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; Lest sorrow lend me words and words express The manner of my pity-wanting pain. n
Read story →O, call not me to justify the wrong That thy unkindness lays upon my heart Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue; Use power with power and slay me not by art. n
Read story →When my love swears that she is made of truth I do believe her, though I know she lies That she might think me some untutor'd youth Unlearned in the world's false subtleties. n
Read story →Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes That they behold, and see not what they see? They know what beauty is, see where it lies Yet what the best is take the worst to be. n
Read story →If thy soul cheque thee that I come so near Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will,' And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there; Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil. n
Read story →Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,' And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in overplus; More than enough am I that vex thee still To thy sweet will making addition thus. n
Read story →So, now I have confess'd that he is thine And I myself am mortgaged to thy will Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still: n
Read story →Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan For that deep wound it gives my friend and me! Is't not enough to torture me alone But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be? n
Read story →Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me, Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain Have put on black and loving mourners be Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. n
Read story →Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. n
Read story →My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. n
Read story →The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action; and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust, n
Read story →How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st, Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, n
Read story →In the old age black was not counted fair Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name; But now is black beauty's successive heir, And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame: n
Read story →O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour; Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st; n
Read story →Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy With my extern the outward honouring, Or laid great bases for eternity, Which prove more short than waste or ruining? n
Read story →If my dear love were but the child of state It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd' As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd. n
Read story →No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change: Thy pyramids built up with newer might To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; They are but dressings of a former sight. n
Read story →Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain Full character'd with lasting memory, Which shall above that idle rank remain Beyond all date, even to eternity; n
Read story →'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd, When not to be receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost which is so deem'd Not by our feeling but by others' seeing: n
Read story →That you were once unkind befriends me now, And for that sorrow which I then did feel Needs must I under my transgression bow, Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel. n
Read story →What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears, Still losing when I saw myself to win! n
Read story →Like as, to make our appetites more keen, With eager compounds we our palate urge, As, to prevent our maladies unseen, We sicken to shun sickness when we purge, n
Read story →Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all Wherein I should your great deserts repay Forgot upon your dearest love to call Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; n
Read story →Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: n
Read story →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 why My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer. n
Read story →Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd 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, n
Read story →Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind; And that which governs me to go about Doth part his function and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out; n
Read story →Your love and pity doth the impression fill Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow; For what care I who calls me well or ill, So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow? n
Read story →O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means which public manners breeds. n
Read story →Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there And made myself a motley to the view, Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Made old offences of affections new; n
Read story →O, never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify. As easy might I from myself depart As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie: n
Read story →What's in the brain that ink may character Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit? What's new to speak, what new to register, That may express my love or thy dear merit? n
Read story →Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. n
Read story →When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, n
Read story →Let not my love be call'd idolatry, Nor my beloved as an idol show, Since all alike my songs and praises be To one, of one, still such, and ever so. n
Read story →To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers' pride, n
Read story →Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, That having such a scope to show her pride The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside! n
Read story →My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming; I love not less, though less the show appear: That love is merchandized whose rich esteeming The owner's tongue doth publish every where. n
Read story →O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? Both truth and beauty on my love depends; So dost thou too, and therein dignified. n
Read story →Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? n
Read story →The forward violet thus did I chide: Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, If not from my love's breath? The purple pride Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells n
Read story →From you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. n
Read story →How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! What old December's bareness every where! n
Read story →Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness; Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport; Both grace and faults are loved of more and less; Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort. n
Read story →How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! n
Read story →They that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, n
Read story →So shall I live, supposing thou art true, Like a deceived husband; so love's face May still seem love to me, though alter'd new; Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place: n
Read story →But do thy worst to steal thyself away, For term of life thou art assured mine, And life no longer than thy love will stay, For it depends upon that love of thine. n
Read story →Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force, Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill, Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse; n
Read story →Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, And do not drop in for an after-loss: Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, Come in the rearward of a conquered woe; Give […]
Read story →Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, And I will comment upon that offence; Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt, Against thy reasons making no defence. n
Read story →When thou shalt be disposed to set me light, And place my merit in the eye of scorn, Upon thy side against myself I'll fight, And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn. n
Read story →Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate. n
Read story →Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, Bound for the prize of all too precious you, That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? n
Read story →My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, While comments of your praise, richly compiled, Reserve their character with golden quill And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. n
Read story →Who is it that says most? which can say more Than this rich praise, that you alone are you? In whose confine immured is the store Which should example where your equal grew. n
Read story →I never saw that you did painting need And therefore to your fair no painting set; I found, or thought I found, you did exceed The barren tender of a poet's debt; n
Read story →I grant thou wert not married to my Muse And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook The dedicated words which writers use Of their fair subject, blessing every book n
Read story →Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. n
Read story →O, how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might, To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame! n
Read story →Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, My verse alone had all thy gentle grace, But now my gracious numbers are decay'd And my sick Muse doth give another place. n
Read story →So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse And found such fair assistance in my verse As every alien pen hath got my use And under thee their poesy disperse. n
Read story →Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste; The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. n
Read story →Why is my verse so barren of new pride, So far from variation or quick change? Why with the time do I not glance aside To new-found methods and to compounds strange? n
Read story →So are you to my thoughts as food to life, Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground; And for the peace of you I hold such strife As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found; n
Read story →But be contented: when that fell arrest Without all bail shall carry me away My life hath in this line some interest, Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. n
Read story →That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. n
Read story →O, lest the world should task you to recite What merit lived in me, that you should love After my death, dear love, forget me quite, For you in me can nothing worthy prove; n
Read story →No longer mourn for me when I am dead Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: n
Read story →That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. n
Read story →Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend; All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due, Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. n
Read story →Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, Before the bastard signs of fair were born, Or durst inhabit on a living brow; n
Read story →Ah! wherefore with infection should he live, And with his presence grace impiety, That sin by him advantage should achieve And lace itself with his society? n
Read story →Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, n
Read story →Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'er-sways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? n
Read story →When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; n
Read story →Against my love shall be, as I am now, With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er-worn; When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn n
Read story →Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye And all my soul and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in my heart. n
Read story →Is it thy will thy image should keep open My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? n
Read story →Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. n
Read story →If there be nothing new, but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss The second burden of a former child! n
Read story →That god forbid that made me first your slave, I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand the account of hours to crave, Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure! n
Read story →Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do, till you require. n
Read story →Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might: n
Read story →Not marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time. n
Read story →O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. n
Read story →What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since every one hath, every one, one shade, And you, but one, can every shadow lend. n
Read story →So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. n
Read story →Thus can my love excuse the slow offence Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed: From where thou art why should I haste me thence? Till I return, of posting is no need. n
Read story →How heavy do I journey on the way, When what I seek, my weary travel's end, Doth teach that ease and that repose to say 'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!' n
Read story →Against that time, if ever that time come, When I shall see thee frown on my defects, When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, Call'd to that audit by advised respects; n
Read story →How careful was I, when I took my way, Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, That to my use it might unused stay From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! n
Read story →Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, And each doth good turns now unto the other: When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, n
Read story →Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war How to divide the conquest of thy sight; Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. n
Read story →The other two, slight air and purging fire, Are both with thee, wherever I abide; The first my thought, the other my desire, These present-absent with swift motion slide. n
Read story →If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, Injurious distance should not stop my way; For then despite of space I would be brought, From limits far remote where thou dost stay. n
Read story →When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, For all the day they view things unrespected; But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, And darkly bright are bright in dark directed. n
Read story →That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I loved her dearly; That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. n
Read story →Those petty wrongs that liberty commits, When I am sometime absent from thy heart, Thy beauty and thy years full well befits, For still temptation follows where thou art. n
Read story →Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. n
Read story →O, how thy worth with manners may I sing, When thou art all the better part of me? What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? And what is 't but mine own when I praise thee? n
Read story →How can my Muse want subject to invent, While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent For every vulgar paper to rehearse? n
Read story →As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. n
Read story →Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one: So shall those blots that do with me remain Without thy help by me be borne alone. n
Read story →No more be grieved at that which thou hast done: Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. n
Read story →Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? n
Read story →Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; n
Read story →If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, n
Read story →Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, Which I by lacking have supposed dead, And there reigns love and all love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried. n
Read story →When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: n
Read story →When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself and curse my fate, n
Read story →How can I then return in happy plight, That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eased by night, But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd? n
Read story →Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired; But then begins a journey in my head, To work my mind, when body's work's expired: n
Read story →Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, To thee I send this written embassage, To witness duty, not to show my wit: n
Read story →Let those who are in favour with their stars Of public honour and proud titles boast, Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most. n
Read story →Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd Thy beauty's form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, And perspective it is the painter's art. n
Read story →As an unperfect actor on the stage Who with his fear is put besides his part, Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart. n
Read story →My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date; But when in thee time's furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate. n
Read story →So is it not with me as with that Muse Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself for ornament doth use And every fair with his fair doth rehearse n
Read story →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; n
Read story →Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws, And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood; n
Read story →Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: n
Read story →Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb Which hides your life and shows not half your parts. n
Read story →But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? And fortify yourself in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? n
Read story →When I consider every thing that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment, That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows Whereon the stars in secret influence comment; n
Read story →Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck; And yet methinks I have astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality; n
Read story →O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are No longer yours than you yourself here live: Against this coming end you should prepare, And your sweet semblance to some other give. n
Read story →When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white; n
Read story →As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest In one of thine, from that which thou departest; And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest. n
Read story →For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any, Who for thyself art so unprovident. Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, But that thou none lovest is most evident; n
Read story →Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye That thou consumest thyself in single life? Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die. The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife; n
Read story →Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly? Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly, Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy? n
Read story →Lo! in the orient when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, Serving with looks his sacred majesty; n
Read story →Then let not winter's ragged hand deface In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd: Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd. n
Read story →Those hours, that with gentle work did frame The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, Will play the tyrants to the very same And that unfair which fairly doth excel: n
Read story →Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy? Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free. n
Read story →Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest Now is the time that face should form another; Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. n
Read story →When forty winters shall beseige thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field, Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now, Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held: n
Read story →FROM fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty's rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, 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 thy sweet […]
Read story →Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality. n We slowly drove – He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility – n We passed the School, where Children strove […]
Read story →O my Luve is like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June; O my Luve is like the melodie That's sweetly played in tune. n So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I; And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry. n […]
Read story →Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? n In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire? n And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist […]
Read story →I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, […]
Read story →I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; n
Read story →Today, at falling hour of the day The sad news of plane crash Reminded me, one of my lines I wrote a year ago “We meet Destiny and Destination at the same time” My consciousness evolved prudently What was it Destination? Where Destiny met ? Plane was not very far from the desired destination Destiny […]
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AN UNTESTED TRUTH O my soulmate You think it is easy To cuddle love Deep within us
Read story →Poems and voices presented in the signature Cosmo reading style.
Open Poetry →Short stories and imaginative works, one clean entry per title.
Open Fiction →Long-form classics and literary worlds, presented without duplicate entries.
Open Novels →Literature crossing languages and cultures, with space for translators and their craft.
Explore Translations →This department is designed to grow with the magazine: new poems, stories, novels and translations can be added through the publishing system without changing the underlying design.