For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident
For thou art possess'd with murderous hate,
That 'gaint thyself thou stick'st not to conspire
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate,
Which to repair should be thy cheif desire.
O change they thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer loged than gentle love?
Be as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself, at lest, kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another self for love of me,
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 to short a date.
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature's, changing course untrimm'd;
Buy thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor 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 breath, or every eyes can see;
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.