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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

No longer mourn for me when I am dead

If thou survive my well-contented day

So, till the judgement that yourself arise

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies!

Death be not proud, though some have called thee

One day I wrote her name upon the strand

Batter my heart, three-person'd God; for you

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

For since each hand hath put on Nature's power

My love is like to ice, and I to fire

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,

When I consider everything that grows

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts

But wherefore do not you a mightier way

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

Let me not to the marriage of true minds