Shall I compare thee to a winter's day?
Thou art more hollow and more distressing;
Rough winds do shake your meaning far away
And empty words are long from impressing.

Sometimes too hot your inward rage will shine,
And often is your mind's complexion dimmed;
Depravity swells and your state will decline,
Oft looked over as your surface is skimmed.
Thy eternal summer did long since fade
And lost possession of that fair thou ow'st--
And sadness brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
Where 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 death to thee.