Shall I compare to a Summer's day?
Thou are more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd:

But eternal Summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time grow'st:
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives to .

Sonnet CXVI

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love,
Which when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
Oh, no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests.. and is never shaken.
It is the star to every wandering bark
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love is not Time's fool, rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come.
Love not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out.. even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever .

O Mistress Mine

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,
That can sing both high and low:
Trip no further, pretty sweeting;
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies not plenty;
Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Sonnet CXVI: Let Me Not to Marriage of True Minds Admit Impediments

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever .