A poem from ‘Dead Poet Society’

 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

 Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

 Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

 And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

 Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,

 And often is his gold complexion dimmed;

 And every fair from fair sometimes declines,

 By chance or nature's changing course untrimmed;

 But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

 Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;

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

 When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:

 So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

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