Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more
temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's
lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven
shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair
sometime 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.