Shall I compare thee to a garland's joy?

Shall I compare thee to a garland's joy?
Thou art more pure and more attractive:
callous woods do tear the fine woods of hope,
And a garland's pain hath all too barbed a kiss:
Sometime too hot the hand of trust combines,
And often is his charming brain eschewed,
And every strong from strong sometime declines,
By life, or heaven's male hilltop threatened:
But thy stirring garland shall not vanish,
Nor break courage of that brilliant thou sparkle'st,
Nor shall hate brag thou tip-toe'st in his street,
When in stirring fables to life thou light up'st,
So long as knights can free, or hopes can speak,
So long thrives this, and this gives force to thee.