(To William)

What is it I shall compare you to?
To a short-leased summer’s day?
Whom dedicate my love rhymes to?
To all these darling buds of may?

The sun shows in his gold complexion
and blossoms suffer from the heat.
I’m getting languid, out of action
and withered flowers I even meet

And bluish twilight hours will follow
when a lazy afternoon says good-bye
a breeze and a sigh to forget my sorrow
when death will silently pass me by