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From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,

Which I by lacking have supposed dead;

As interest of the dead, which now appear

Their images I loved I view in thee,

'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,

A dearer birth than this his love had brought:

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!

Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,

Who all their parts of me to thee did give;

Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye

Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,

Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,

How many a holy and obsequious tear

And thou— all they— hast all the all of me.

And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,

Exceeded by the height of happier men.

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings

How like a winter hath my absence been

But things removed that hidden in thee lie!

Or bends with the remover to remove:

There they are lodged, where these receives new life,

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover

To march in ranks of better equipage:

But since he died, and poets better prove,

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

Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,

And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts,

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

And all those friends which I thought buried.

If thou survive my well-contented day,

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest

That due of many now is thine alone:

And shalt by fortune once more re-survey

Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.

Thy eternal summer shall not fade

Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds,

But thy eternal summer shall not fade