Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough wins do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eyes of heaven shines
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines;
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.