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Who will believe my verse in time to come,
未来的时代谁会相信我的诗，
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
如果它充满了你最高的美德？
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb,
虽然，天知道，它只是一座墓地
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
埋着你的生命和一半的本色。
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
如果我写得出你美目的流盼，
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
用清新的韵律细数你的秀妍，
The age to come would say: "This poet lies,"
未来的时代会说："这诗人撒谎：”
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.
这样的天姿哪里会落在人间！
So should my papers yellow'd with their age,
于是我的诗册，被岁月所熏黄，
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
就要被人藐视，像饶舌的老头；
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage,
你的真容被诬作诗人的疯狂，
And stretched metre of an antique song:
以及一支古歌的夸张的节奏：
But were some child of yours alive that time,
但那时你若有个儿子在人世，
You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.
你就活两次：在他身上，在诗里。
