By
William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
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:
Sometimes to 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 beauty shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men shall breathe or eyes can see,
So, long lives this and this gives life to thee.
(Sonnet XVIII)