By William Shakepeare

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 shall lose possession of that fair thou owest
Nor shall Death brag thou wander`st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee