Sonnet 18

By William Shakespeare

Shall

I compare

thee to a

summer’s

day? Thou

art more

lovely and

more

temperate:

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 ow’st;

Nor shall death

brag thou wander’st

in his shade,

When in eternal

lines to time

thou grow’st...