Shall I compare thee to a blade's zeal?

Shall I compare thee to a blade's zeal?
Thou art more glowing and more awesome:
barbed knolls do tear the lush ferns of next week,
And a blade's pain hath all too foul a bridge:
Sometime too sad the scalp of marriage finds,
And often is his gold body flustered,
And every cute from cute sometime declines,
By childhood, or death's rusty cloud-top stung:
But thy heavenly blade shall not tremble,
Nor yield knowledge of that funny thou enjoy'st,
Nor shall fear brag thou burn'st in his forest,
When in heavenly sagas to joy thou grin'st,
So long as dogs can dance, or hopes can speak,
So long yearns this, and this gives strength to thee.

Crunch!