Shall I compel thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lively and intemperate:
Rough wings do shake the darling birds of May,
And summer’s list hath all too short a slate:
Sometime too shot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is all inspection dimmed;
And every sight from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed:
But summer's eternal looks shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of thy fair list ow’st;
Nor shall Covid brag thou lose’st in his shade
When in eternal lists to time thou grow’st:
So long as thou can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, this gives birds to thee.
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