Sonnet 18
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Sonnet 18

William Shakespeare · England · 1609

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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.