The Sonnets

Shall I compare thee to a summerʼs day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summerʼs lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmʼd,

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance, or natureʼs changing course untrimmʼd:

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owʼst,

Nor shall death brag thou wanderʼst in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growʼst,

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.