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When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

One day I wrote her name upon the strand

My love is like to ice, and I to fire

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

No longer mourn for me when I am dead

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

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts

So, till the judgement that yourself arise

If thou survive my well-contented day

For since each hand hath put on Nature's power

Death be not proud, though some have called thee

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

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

But wherefore do not you a mightier way

When I consider everything that grows

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing

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