https://padlet.com/anicapetkoska/l4ecc1qv1f5h Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Shall I compare you to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: You are more lovely and more constant: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, Rough winds shake the beloved buds of May And summer's lease hath all too short a date: And summer is far too short: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, At times the sun is too hot, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; Or often goes behind the clouds; And every fair from fair sometime declines, And everything beautiful sometime will lose its beauty, By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd; By misfortune or by nature's planned out course. But thy eternal summer shall not fade But your youth shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st; Nor will you lose the beauty that you possess; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, Nor will death claim you for his own, When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st; Because in my eternal verse you will live forever. So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long as there are people on this earth, So long lives this and this gives life to thee. So long will this poem live on, making you immortal. en-us 2017-12-20 08:51:05 UTC 2023-02-18 18:38:45 UTC hello@padlet.com https://padlet.com/anicapetkoska/l4ecc1qv1f5h/wish/218052666 Johan Green 
Marija Petroska]]> 2017-12-27 13:53:05 UTC https://padlet.com/anicapetkoska/l4ecc1qv1f5h/wish/218052666 boskoskafrosina https://padlet.com/anicapetkoska/l4ecc1qv1f5h/wish/218099037 Frosina Boskoska]]> 2017-12-28 11:36:38 UTC https://padlet.com/anicapetkoska/l4ecc1qv1f5h/wish/218099037 https://padlet.com/anicapetkoska/l4ecc1qv1f5h/wish/218720247 To be, or not to be--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--
To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprise of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.
Simeona Stefanoska ]]> 2018-01-04 12:47:21 UTC https://padlet.com/anicapetkoska/l4ecc1qv1f5h/wish/218720247