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

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,

As interest of the dead, which now appear

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

Exceeded by the height of happier men.

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

If thou survive my well-contented day,

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

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

To march in ranks of better equipage:

Or bends with the remover to remove:

And all those friends which I thought buried.

That due of many now is thine alone:

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds,

Which I by lacking have supposed dead;

Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,

There they are lodged, where these receives new life,

These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,

And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,

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

Thy eternal summer shall not fade

Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover

And shalt by fortune once more re-survey

Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings

From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!

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

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

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

How many a holy and obsequious tear

But things removed that hidden in thee lie!

Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,

O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:

But since he died, and poets better prove,

Who all their parts of me to thee did give;

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

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest

Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,

How like a winter hath my absence been

What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!

Their images I loved I view in thee,

But thy eternal summer shall not fade