Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
When rough winds shake the darling buds of May,
Then all too hot the eye of heaven shines,
So every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
That often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Art thou more lovely and more temperate?

Shakespeare, ReShaken