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