Those hours that with gentle work did frameThe lovely gaze where every eye doth dwellWill play the tyrants to the very same,And that unfair which fairly doth excel:

For never-resting time leads summer onTo hideous winter and confounds him there,Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:

Then were not summer's distillation leftA liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,Nor it nor no remembrance what it was.

But flowers distilled though they with winter meet,Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet.