評論
打印
Who will believe my verse in time to come
將來誰會相信我這些歌唱，
If it were filled with your most high deserts?
如果你至高的美德溢滿詩章？
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
盡管天知道這只是一座墳墓，
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
葬著你的命，難使你德行張揚。
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
如果我能描摹你流盼的美目，
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
把你的千嬌百媚織入我的詩行，
The age to come would say 'This poet lies,
未來的時代會說："這位詩人撒謊
Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.'
這樣的天工之筆從未描過塵世的面龐
So should my papers, yellowed with their age,
于是我的詩稿帶著歲月的熏黃，
Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,
將受到嘲弄，像嘲弄饒舌的老頭一樣。
And your true rights be termed a poet's rage
你應得的禮贊被看作是詩人的狂想，
And stretched meter of an antique song:
或看作一首古曲的虛飾夸張：
But were some child of yours alive that time,
但如果那時侯你有子孫健在，
You should live twice, in it and in my rhyme.
你就雙倍活于他身和我的詩行。
