Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco: Shakespeare Sonnets

Music To Hear, Why Hear’st Thou Music Sadly?

When To The Sessions Of Sweet Silent Thought

How Like A Winter Hath My Absence Been From Thee

Let Not My Love Be Called Idolatry

That Time Of Year Thou May’st In Me Behold

O Never Say That I Was False of Heart

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer’s Day?

Poor Soul, The Centre Of My Sinful Earth

Weary With Toil, I Haste Me To My Bed

When In The Chronicle Of Wasted Time

Then Hate Me When Thou Wilt; If Ever, Now

My Love Is Strengthen’d, Though More Weak In Seeming

If Thou Survive My Well-Contented Day

What Is Your Substance, Whereof Are You Made

No More Be Grieved At That Which Thou Hast Done

Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbled Shore

How Oft, When Thou, My Music, Music Play’st

Being Your Slave

When In Disgrace With Fortune And Men’s Eyes

When I Have Seen By Time’s Fell Hand Defaced

Since Brass, Nor Stone, Nor Earth, Nor Boundless Sea

Farewell! Thou Art Too Dear For My Possessing

To Me, Fair Friend, You Never Can Be Old