Sonnets

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.Metaphor
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
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When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,Alliteration
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:Alliteration
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
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Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudgeParenthesis break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.Antanaclesis & Synecdoche
From forth the fatal loins of these two foesAlliteration, Oxymoron & Synecdoche
A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;
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To me fair friend you never can be old
For as you were when first your eye I eyed
Such is your beauty still.
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But flowers distill’d, though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet.
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