Sonnet 18

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 untrimm'd

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owes;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

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