Those hours that with gentle work did frame,

The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,

Will play the tyrants to the very same,

And that unfair which fairly doth excel:

For never-resting Time leads summer on,

To hideous winter and confounds him there,

Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,

Beauty o'ersnowed and bareness everywhere.

Then, were not summer's distillation left A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,

Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,