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.