Shall I compare thee to a winter’s day?
Thou art more cruel and intemperate;
Cold blasts do quake the darling boys at play,
And winter’s lease hath all too long a date.
Sometime to rot a leaf of fall inclines,
And often is his green complexion brown’d;
And every storm from storm sometime declines,
By chance, or reason’s changing course, unrhymed.
But thy eternal winter shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that tongue thou owest;
Nor shall God brag thou wander in His parade
When in eternal lines to hell thou growest.
So long as I can breathe, or eye can see
So long lives this, and this gives hate