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        <h1>William Shakespeare</h1>
        William Shakespeare is too notorious to add anything new about him, but his sonnets and poems 
        in general are certainly the least known part of his work. The single theme of the sonnets 
        is the passage of time and its harm on the love that, as we have learned through experience, 
        never doth runs smooth. A sentence from Marcel Proust illustrates, in concentrated, the 
        two-mile fifty-six towards one hundred fifty-four sonnets trying to express: "And what 
        would be the wrinkles and circles under the eyes if it wasn’t for the sufferings of the heart".   

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        <h1>William Shakespeare</h1>
        <p>est trop c&eacute;l&egrave;bre pour qu&rsquo;on le pr&eacute;sente, 
        mais ses sonnets et ses po&egrave;mes en g&eacute;n&eacute;ral sont la partie 
        la moins connue de son &oelig;uvre. Le th&egrave;me unique des sonnets est le 
        passage du temps et ses m&eacute;faits sur l&rsquo;amour qui, on le sait, ne suit 
        jamais un cours facile. Une phrase de Marcel Proust illustre bien, en concentr&eacute;, 
        ce que les deux-mile cinquante-six vers des cent cinquante-quatre sonnets s&rsquo;efforcent 
        d&rsquo;exprimer&nbsp;: &laquo;Et que serait les rides et les cernes aux yeux si ce 
        n&rsquo;&eacute;tait des souffrances du c&oelig;ur.&raquo;</p> 

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        <h1>William Shakespeare</h1>
        William Shakespeare no resecita presentación, pero sus sonetos y otros 
        poemas siguen siendo la parte más desconocida de su obra. El tema recurrido 
        en los cinto cincuenta cuatro sonetos es el del curso imparable del tiempo y 
        sus perjuicios en el dominio del amor que, como se dice en El Sueno de una 
        Noche de Verano, nunca sigue un camino fácil.
      
    
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        <h2>Sonnet #2</h2>
        <br />
        When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,<br /> 
        And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,<br /> 
        Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,<br /> 
        Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:<br /> 
        Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,<br /> 
        Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,<br /> 
        To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,<br /> 
        Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.<br /> 
        How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,<br /> 
        If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine <br />
        Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,'<br /> 
        Proving his beauty by succession thine!<br /> 
        This were to be new made when thou art old,<br /> 
        And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.<br /> 


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