Sonnet Xviii

William Shakespeare

     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 dimm'd;
     And every fair from fair sometime declines,
     By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
     But thy eternal summer shall not fade
     Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
     Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st 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.

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