Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
O, how thy worth with manners may I sing
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
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;
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate;
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove;
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head;
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the praise that I can bring?
And yet my words could never praise thee true,
If I should write a thousand lines of you;
That time of year thou mayst in me behold,
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang;