Sonnet 55


  Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
  Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme,
  But you shall shine more bright in these contents
  Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time.
  When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
  And broils root out the work of masonry,
  Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn:
  The living record of your memory.
  'Gainst death, and all-oblivious enmity
  Shall you pace forth, your praise shall still find room,
  Even in the eyes of all posterity
  That wear this world out to the ending doom.
    So till the judgment that your self arise,
    You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.


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It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.