SONNET #18
by: 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 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
wand'rest 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.
