THOSE hours that with gentle work did frame The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell Will play the tyrants to the very sameAnd that unfair which fairly doth excel; For never-resting time leads summer on To hideous winter and confounds him there,Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, Beauty o'ersnowed and bareness everywhere. Then, were not summer's distillation leftA liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,Nor it nor no remembrance what it was:But flowers distilled, though with winter meet,Leese but there snow; their substance still lives sweet.
-William Shakespeare
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