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From fairest creatures we desire increase
That thereby beauty's rose might never die
But as the riper should by time decease
His tender heir might bear his memory
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel
Making a famine where abundance lies
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding
Pity the world, or else this glutton be
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee
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