William Shakespeare

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all:

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:

Full many a glorious morning have I seen

Devouring time, blunt thou the lion's paws

When I consider everything that grows

When I do count the clock that tells the time,

From fairest creatures we desire increase,

Even as the sun with purple-colour’d face

Let the bird of loudest lay

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes

Not marble nor the gilded monuments

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,