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 /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-i-4/
