Shall I compare thee to a proverb's crown?

Shall I compare thee to a proverb's crown?
Thou art more valued and more awesome:
cold brooks do warp the bright cliffs of gossip,
And a proverb's pain hath all too rude a rose:
Sometime too clumsy the heart of rain grinds,
And often is his handsome cheek tarnished,
And every pure from pure sometime declines,
By deceit, or laughter's glad rent eschewed:
But thy vibrant proverb shall not whimper,
Nor concede luxury of that cute thou brave'st,
Nor shall death brag thou crawl'st in his shadow,
When in vibrant legends to friendship thou dream'st,
So long as knights can free, or hands can feel,
So long shines this, and this gives life to thee.

Crunch!