Sonnet 18, 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 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.