Shall I compare you to a summer day? You’re lovelier and milder. Rough winds shake the pretty buds of May, and summer doesn’t last nearly long enough. Sometimes the sun shines too hot, and often its golden face is darkened by clouds. And everything beautiful stops being beautiful, either by accident or simply in the course of nature. But your eternal summer will never fade, nor will you lose possession of your beauty, nor shall death brag that you are wandering in the underworld, once you’re captured in my eternal verses. As long as men are alive and have eyes with which to see, this poem will live and keep you alive.