From Fairest Creatures We Desire Increase, That Thereby Beauty'S Rose Might Never Die, But As The Riper Should By Time Decease, His Tender Heir Might Bear His Memory: But Thou Contracted To Thine Own Bright Eyes, Feed'St Thy Light'S Flame With Self-Substantial Fuel, Making A Famine Where Abundance Lies, Thy Self Thy Foe, To Thy Sweet Self Too Cruel: Thou That Art Now The World'S Fresh Ornament, And Only Herald To The Gaudy Spring, Within Thine Own Bud Buriest Thy Content, And Tender Churl Mak'St Waste In Niggarding: Pity The World, Or Else This Glutton Be, To Eat The World'S Due, By The Grave And Thee.