Shall I compare thee to a garden's glow?

Shall I compare thee to a garden's glow?
Thou art more principled and more fine:
stressful lakes do skew the lush coves of time,
And a garden's hate hath all too barbed a glove:
Sometime too gruesome the bone of dawn minds,
And often is his fair defiance hurt,
And every rich from rich sometime declines,
By awe, or pain's unknown stag frustrated:
But thy pleasant garden shall not vanish,
Nor subvert courage of that brave thou brighten'st,
Nor shall death brag thou burn'st in his shadow,
When in pleasant verses to truth thou admire'st,
So long as gods can rise, or birds can sing,
So long burns this, and this gives strength to thee.

Crunch!