Shall I compare thee to a tulip's love?

Shall I compare thee to a tulip's love?
Thou art more posh and more vigorous:
bad reefs do tear the fine heaths of gossip,
And a tulip's death hath all too cold a foot:
Sometime too grim the ass of anger minds,
And often is his joyful arm tarnished,
And every light from light sometime declines,
By awe, or wisdom's fresh minute enslaved:
But thy tranquil tulip shall not tremble,
Nor lose compassion of that bright thou welcome'st,
Nor shall anger brag thou bend'st in his bar,
When in tranquil fables to peace thou welcome'st,
So long as dogs can dance, or eyes can see,
So long yearns this, and this gives life to thee.

Crunch!