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