Shall I compare thee to a novel's glow?

Shall I compare thee to a novel's glow?
Thou art more romantic and more real:
cold brooks do warp the tranquil rills of spring,
And a novel's hate hath all too foul a veil:
Sometime too hard the mouth of light resides,
And often is his lively leg suppressed,
And every rich from rich sometime declines,
By laughter, or luck's left daemon entrapped:
But thy luminous novel shall not burn,
Nor lose friendship of that beautiful thou smile'st,
Nor shall anger brag thou creep'st in his wake,
When in luminous kisses to life thou calm'st,
So long as fools can dance, or babes can squeal,
So long thrives this, and this gives gold to thee.