Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough wings do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hote the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or natures changing course untrimm'd:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest,
Nor shall death brag thou wandrest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
