Sonnet 81 by William Shakespeare
Or I shall live your epitaph to make
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten.
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten. 4
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die.
The Earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombèd in men’s eyes shall lie. 8
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o’erread;
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse
When all the breathers of this world are dead. 12
You still shall live-such virtue hath my pen-
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
