評論
打印
Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
為什么我的詩缺乏點晴之筆，
So far from variation or quick change?
行文沉悶呆板，千篇一律？
Why with the time do I not glance aside
為什么我的詩不順應時尚，
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
花樣翻新，自鑄奇特的偉辭？
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
為什么我總是重復同一個主皆，
And keep invention in a noted weed,
我的所有詩趣總穿同一件詩衣？
That every word doth almost tell my name,
幾乎每一個詞都打著我的印記，
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
透露它出自何手，意在何地何時。
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,
啊，我的小親親，我的筆底明珠，
And you and love are still my argument;
我只是寫你、寫愛、永遠不會換題。
So all my best is dressing old words new,
竭聰盡智，我只能陳辭翻出新意境.
Spending again what is already spent:
舊曲重彈，又何妨故伎今日再重施。
For as the sun is daily new and old,
天上太陽，日日輪因新成舊，
So is my love still telling what is told.
銘心之愛，不盡衷腸訴無休。
