Those hours, that with gentle work did frame <br /> The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell, <br /> Will play the tyrants to the very same <br /> And that unfair which fairly doth excel: <br /> For never-resting time leads summer on <br /> To hideous winter and confounds him there; <br /> Sap cheque'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, <br /> Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where: <br /> Then, were not summer's distillation left, <br /> A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, <br /> Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, <br /> Nor it nor no remembrance what it was: <br /> But flowers distill'd though they with winter meet, <br /> Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-v-2/
