MUST I COMPARE THEE?
- May 22
- 1 min read
By Geoffrey Beevers
Must I compare thee to a summer’s day?
You’re not as lovely, nor as temperate.
There’s no competing with the buds of May
And summer always has one perfect date,
Sunshine is softer; when your temper shines
The heat’s so fierce, the light of reason’s dimmed:
And still the fairness of your face declines
With deeper grooves and straggly hair untrimmed.
It can’t be changed; your outward looks must fade,
Crushed by possession of Life’s debt you owe,
No lines of mine can save you from the shade
Of Death; till then, those lines of yours will grow.
Yet I, in you, such inward beauty see,
No brag of Shakespeare’s can compare with thee.