評論
打印
What's in the brain that ink may character
我的大腦里的東西只要能成為筆底詩文，
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
有哪一樣不曾用來向你描述我的真心？
What's new to speak, what new to register,
表達我的深愛，描摹你的美艷，
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
可憐聲音與文字再不能花樣翻新。
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
雖說如此，寶貝兒，我仍將日日夜夜
I must, each day say o'er the very same,
念經似地叨念同一篇愛的經文。
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
休說是老調重彈，你屬我，我屬你，
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
我說了又說，宛若當初敬頌你的芳名。
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
于是在新鮮愛匣中的永恒之愛，
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
自能遠避年歲帶來的磨損與灰塵，
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
自能免皺紋唐突擠占一席之地，
But makes antiquity for aye his page,
好使暮年殘月永伴不死的青春。
Finding the first conceit of love there bred
盡管時光與外貌難遮掩愛的死相，
Where time and outward form would show it dead.
那最初的一縷愛葉卻永遠不會枯黃。
