Sonnet XVIII

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;
so long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
so long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

—William Shakespeare

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