Shall I compare thee to a winter's night?
Thou art more silent than a snowflake's death.
A
tempest howling leads my heart to fright,
Your firey gaze hath
robbed me of my breath.
Often too cold your heart doth aire,
And more so is his soul deeply chill'd;
And every
maiden doth elsewhere stare,
By destiny's or plan's empty goblet overfill'd.
But thy
barest winter hath so made
Or gain'd
obsession of this beast thou breaketh;
Or hath Life subtly told the
prisoner in tirade,
After, on
temporal words of space, thou taketh.
So short as
boys can drown or
arms can reach,
So short dies this and
this taketh death from me.