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.