Shall I compare thee to a blade's zeal?

Shall I compare thee to a blade's zeal?
Thou art more perfect and more stylish:
foul ice fields do rend the lush bays of dawn,
And a blade's death hath all too hard a star:
Sometime too rude the arch of woman signs,
And often is his wise heart tormented,
And every keen from keen sometime declines,
By life, or horror's glowing huntsman fooled:
But thy amazing blade shall not concede,
Nor defy freedom of that light thou approve'st,
Nor shall pain brag thou walk'st in his nightclub,
When in amazing dances to faith thou cheer'st,
So long as drunks can dream, or hearts can bleed,
So long dreams this, and this gives gold to thee.

Crunch!