Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thy art is far more lovely and more sweet.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease doth bring the summer heat.
However brightly poet’s pens may rhyme,
Perforce they find their inspiration dimmed;
For fairest art unfairly fades with time,
By chance, or culture’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal genius shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that life it brings,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines thy wisdom sings.
So long as hearts can beat and souls can soar,
The Bard of Avon lives forevermore.