Contrary (Sonnet 18)

Shall I compare thee to a winter’s storm? Thou art more fiery and more passionate. Stiff breezes blow but you can make me warm It’s winter’s chill makes you importunate. Sometimes too rough the centre of the squall, Too harsh and cruel the thrusting wind and rain. In gentler times we find we can’t recall What gusts and blasts provoked this hurricane. May this tempestuous winter never cease May you be always stormy, savage, base; Explosions come, we never sanction peace But rush on headlong to a wild embrace. Remember this when winter’s bleak and raw, Think hard of me, I’m howling at your door.