sonnet # 18 by shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thour 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 dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.

So long as men can breathe or eyes cna see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.