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Timeless. Shakespeare wrote 38 plays, translated into every major living language, performed more than any other playwright

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William Shakespeare (April 23, 1564 - April 23, 1616) is the greatest writer in the English language and the world's greatest dramatist.
His extant works consist of about 38 plays, 154 sonnets and additional poems. His plays have been translated into every major living language and have been performed more often than any other playwright.
Shakespeare was born in Stratford-upon-Avon in England in 1564, the third of eight children to a prominent businessman and official.
It wasn't until 1592 that Shakespeare is recorded established in London as a founder member of the theatre company The Lord Chamberlain's Men. From the 1603 the company came under the patronage of King James I as The King's Men with the Globe as their theatre, which they had constructed in 1599.
It is during this time that Shakespeare wrote his most famous plays,
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Image courtesy onthisday.com
So We'll Go No More A-Roving - Poem by Lord Byron
So we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart still be as loving,
And the moon still be as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul outwears the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a-roving
By the light of the moon.
"That all they ask is rougher weather, /And dory and master will sail by fate /To seek the Happy Isles together." - Robert Frost
The fisherman's swapping a yarn for a yarn
Under the hand of the village barber,
And her in the angle of house and barn
His deep-sea dory has found a harbor.
At anchor she rides the sunny sod
As full to the gunnel of flowers growing
As ever she turned her home with cod
From George's bank when winds were blowing.
And I judge from that elysian freight
That all they ask is rougher weather,
And dory and master will sail by fate
To seek the Happy Isles together.
Poem in Art: "Where happy spirits, crown'd with circlets bright / Of starry beam, and gloriously bedight" - John Keats
As from the darkening gloom a silver dove
Upsoars, and darts into the eastern light,
On pinions that nought moves but pure delight,
So fled thy soul into the realms above,
Regions of peace and everlasting love;
Where happy spirits, crown'd with circlets bright
Of starry beam, and gloriously bedight,
Taste the high joy none but the blest can prove.
There thou or joinest the immortal quire
In melodies that even heaven fair
Fill with superior bliss, or, at desire,
Of the omnipotent Father, cleav'st the air
On holy message sent -- What pleasure's higher?
Wherefore does any grief our joy impair?
- John Keats
















