Sonnet XVIII

Shall I compare thee to a Fall's day?

Thou art more withered and barren

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May

And thee 

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shine

And oft is thy insignificant shadow missed   

And every fair from fair declined   

By chance or changing course untrimmed

But thy eternal mass shall never gain   

Nor lose obsession with thy looks thou will'st

 Nor indulgence linger in thy gut

Where in eternal line to time thou grow'st

                                  So long as opinions matter, or so thinks thee

                              So long blinded is, and others give meaning to thee