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, untrimmed: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 shadeWhen 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