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When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
四十個冬天將會圍攻你的額頭，
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
在你那美的田地上掘下淺槽深溝。
Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
那時，你如今令人欽羨的青春華服
Will be a tottered weed of small worth held:
將不免價落千丈，寒傖而又鄙陋。
Then being asked where all thy beauty lies,
如有人問起，何處尚存你當年的美色，
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
或何處有遺芳可追尋你往昔的風流，
To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
你卻只能說："它們都在我深陷的眼里。"
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
這回答是空洞的頌揚，徒令答者蒙羞。
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
但假如你能說："這里有我美麗的孩子
If thou couldst answer, 'This fair child of mine
可續我韶華春夢，免我老邁時的隱憂"，
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
那么孩子之美就是你自身美的明證，
Proving his beauty by succession thine.
你如這樣使用美，方值得謳頌千秋。
This were to be new made when thou art old,
如此，你縱然已衰老，美卻會重生，
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.
你縱然血已冰涼，也自會借體重溫。
