莎士比亚 (William Shakespeare)

Sonnets (1-154) 十四行诗集 (全数154首) 


Sonnets (1-154) 十四行诗集 (全数154首)

I.

FROM fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light'st flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, makest waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

II.

When forty winters shall beseige thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserved thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,'
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

III.

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shall see
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

IV.

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tomb'd with thee,
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.

V.

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same
And that unfair which fairly doth excel:
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter and confounds him there;
Sap check'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'ersnow'd and bareness every where:
Then, were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it nor no remembrance what it was:
But flowers distill'd though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

VI.

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigured thee:
Then what could death do, if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

VII.

Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage;
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract and look another way:
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.

VIII.

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lovest thou that which thou receivest not gladly,
Or else receivest with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering,
Resembling sire and child and happy mother
Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: 'thou single wilt prove none.'

IX.

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consumest thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die.
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep
By children's eyes her husband's shape in mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unused, the user so destroys it.
No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murderous shame commits.

X.

For shame! deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many,
But that thou none lovest is most evident;
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire.
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind!
Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove:
Make thee another self, for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

XI.

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest.
Herein lives wisdom, beauty and increase:
Without this, folly, age and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
Harsh featureless and rude, barrenly perish:
Look, whom she best endow'd she gave the more;
Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish:
She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby
Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die.

XII.

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

XIII.

O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are
No longer yours than you yourself here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination: then you were
Yourself again after yourself's decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear.
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?
O, none but unthrifts! Dear my love, you know
You had a father: let your son say so.

XIV.

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

XV.

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

XVI.

But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours,
And many maiden gardens yet unset
With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit:
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself keeps yourself still,
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill.

XVII.

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies:
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.

XVIII.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

XIX.

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.
Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.

XX.

A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling,
Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.

XXI.

So is it not with me as with that Muse
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,
With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O' let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air:
Let them say more than like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

XXII.

My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary
As I, not for myself, but for thee will;
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
Thou gavest me thine, not to give back again.

XXIII.

As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart.
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

XXIV.

Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is the painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies;
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art;
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

XXV.

Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once foil'd,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd:
Then happy I, that love and am beloved
Where I may not remove nor be removed.

XXVI.

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit:
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it,
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it;
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
Points on me graciously with fair aspect
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;
Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

XXVII.

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee and for myself no quiet find.

XXVIII.

How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd?
And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me;
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please them thou art bright
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer
And night doth nightly make grief's strength
seem stronger.

XXIX.

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

XXX.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.

XXXI.

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead,
And there reigns love and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things removed that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give;
That due of many now is thine alone:
Their images I loved I view in thee,
And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.

XXXII.

If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'

XXXIII.

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine
With all triumphant splendor on my brow;
But out, alack! he was but one hour mine;
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.

XXXIV.

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak
That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.

XXXV.

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authorizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are;
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense--
Thy adverse party is thy advocate--
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence:
Such civil war is in my love and hate
That I an accessary needs must be
To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

XXXVI.

Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain
Without thy help by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love's sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
But do not so; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

XXXVII.

As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am sufficed
And by a part of all thy glory live.
Look, what is best, that best I wish in thee:
This wish I have; then ten times happy me!

XXXVIII.

How can my Muse want subject to invent,
While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O, give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
If my slight Muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

XXXIX.

O, how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?
And what is 't but mine own when I praise thee?
Even for this let us divided live,
And our dear love lose name of single one,
That by this separation I may give
That due to thee which thou deservest alone.
O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,
And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
By praising him here who doth hence remain!

XL.

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

XLI.

Those petty wrongs that liberty commits,
When I am sometime absent from thy heart,
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art and therefore to be won,
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed;
And when a woman woos, what woman's son
Will sourly leave her till she have prevailed?
Ay me! but yet thou mightest my seat forbear,
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth,
Who lead thee in their riot even there
Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth,
Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.

XLII.

That thou hast her, it is not all my grief,
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;
That she hath thee, is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:
Thou dost love her, because thou knowst I love her;
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
Suffering my friend for my sake to approve her.
If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain,
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss;
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my sake lay on me this cross:
But here's the joy; my friend and I are one;
Sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone.

XLIII.

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

XLIV.

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then despite of space I would be brought,
From limits far remote where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee;
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But ah! thought kills me that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that so much of earth and water wrought
I must attend time's leisure with my moan,
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.

XLV.

The other two, slight air and purging fire,
Are both with thee, wherever I abide;
The first my thought, the other my desire,
These present-absent with swift motion slide.
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee,
My life, being made of four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy;
Until life's composition be recured
By those swift messengers return'd from thee,
Who even but now come back again, assured
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me:
This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,
I send them back again and straight grow sad.

XLVI.

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar,
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie--
A closet never pierced with crystal eyes--
But the defendant doth that plea deny
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title is impanneled
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart,
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye's moiety and the dear heart's part:
As thus; mine eye's due is thy outward part,
And my heart's right thy inward love of heart.

XLVII.

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other:
When that mine eye is famish'd for a look,
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
With my love's picture then my eye doth feast
And to the painted banquet bids my heart;
Another time mine eye is my heart's guest
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part:
So, either by thy picture or my love,
Thyself away art resent still with me;
For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,
And I am still with them and they with thee;
Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight.

XLVIII.

How careful was I, when I took my way,
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,
That to my use it might unused stay
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust!
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
Most worthy of comfort, now my greatest grief,
Thou, best of dearest and mine only care,
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest,
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,
Within the gentle closure of my breast,
From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part;
And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear,
For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.

XLIX.

Against that time, if ever that time come,
When I shall see thee frown on my defects,
When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
Call'd to that audit by advised respects;
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass
And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye,
When love, converted from the thing it was,
Shall reasons find of settled gravity,--
Against that time do I ensconce me here
Within the knowledge of mine own desert,
And this my hand against myself uprear,
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part:
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws,
Since why to love I can allege no cause.

L.

How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say
'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!'
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider loved not speed, being made from thee:
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide;
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
For that same groan doth put this in my mind;
My grief lies onward and my joy behind.

LI.

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence
Of my dull bearer when from thee I speed:
From where thou art why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O, what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;
In winged speed no motion shall I know:
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;
Therefore desire of perfect'st love being made,
Shall neigh--no dull flesh--in his fiery race;
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade;
Since from thee going he went wilful-slow,
Towards thee I'll run, and give him leave to go.

LII.

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,
Since, seldom coming, in the long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
So is the time that keeps you as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special blest,
By new unfolding his imprison'd pride.
Blessed are you, whose worthiness gives scope,
Being had, to triumph, being lack'd, to hope.

LIII.

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new:
Speak of the spring and foison of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear;
And you in every blessed shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part,
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

LIV.

O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
But, for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.

LV.

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lover's eyes.

LVI.

Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might:
So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
Return of love, more blest may be the view;
Else call it winter, which being full of care
Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare.

LVII.

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

LVIII.

That god forbid that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!
O, let me suffer, being at your beck,
The imprison'd absence of your liberty;
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell;
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.

LIX.

If there be nothing new, but that which is
Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled,
Which, labouring for invention, bear amiss
The second burden of a former child!
O, that record could with a backward look,
Even of five hundred courses of the sun,
Show me your image in some antique book,
Since mind at first in character was done!
That I might see what the old world could say
To this composed wonder of your frame;
Whether we are mended, or whether better they,
Or whether revolution be the same.
O, sure I am, the wits of former days
To subjects worse have given admiring praise.

LX.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked elipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

LXI.

Is it thy will thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So far from home into my deeds to pry,
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?
O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake;
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake:
For thee watch I whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near.

LXII.

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.

LXIII.

Against my love shall be, as I am now,
With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'er-worn;
When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night,
And all those beauties whereof now he's king
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life:
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them still green.

LXIV.

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
The rich proud cost of outworn buried age;
When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed
And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the watery main,
Increasing store with loss and loss with store;
When I have seen such interchange of state,
Or state itself confounded to decay;
Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate,
That Time will come and take my love away.
This thought is as a death, which cannot choose
But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

LXV.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

LXVI.

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And guilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

LXVII.

Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his presence grace impiety,
That sin by him advantage should achieve
And lace itself with his society?
Why should false painting imitate his cheek
And steal dead seeing of his living hue?
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true?
Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is,
Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins?
For she hath no excheckr now but his,
And, proud of many, lives upon his gains.
O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had
In days long since, before these last so bad.

LXVIII.

Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,
When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,
Before the bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow;
Before the golden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,
To live a second life on second head;
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:
In him those holy antique hours are seen,
Without all ornament, itself and true,
Making no summer of another's green,
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new;
And him as for a map doth Nature store,
To show false Art what beauty was of yore.

LXIX.

Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view
Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;
All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due,
Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.
Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd;
But those same tongues that give thee so thine own
In other accents do this praise confound
By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.
They look into the beauty of thy mind,
And that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds;
Then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind,
To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:
But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,
The solve is this, that thou dost common grow.

LXX.

That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect,
For slander's mark was ever yet the fair;
The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.
So thou be good, slander doth but approve
Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time;
For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,
Either not assail'd or victor being charged;
Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,
To tie up envy evermore enlarged:
If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,
Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.

LXXI.

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.
But let your love even with my life decay,
Lest the wise world should look into your moan
And mock you with me after I am gone.

LXXII.

O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth.

LXXIII.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

LXXIV.

But be contented: when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away,
My life hath in this line some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee:
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
My spirit is thine, the better part of me:
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead,
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
Too base of thee to be remembered.
The worth of that is that which it contains,
And that is this, and this with thee remains.

LXXV.

So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found;
Now proud as an enjoyer and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure,
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure;
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight,
Save what is had or must from you be took.
Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
Or gluttoning on all, or all away.

LXXVI.

Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent:
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love still telling what is told.

LXXVII.

Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;
The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,
And of this book this learning mayst thou taste.
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory;
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
Look, what thy memory can not contain
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find
Those children nursed, deliver'd from thy brain,
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book.

LXXVIII.

So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
And found such fair assistance in my verse
As every alien pen hath got my use
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly
Have added feathers to the learned's wing
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine and born of thee:
In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be;
But thou art all my art and dost advance
As high as learning my rude ignorance.

LXXIX.

Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid,
My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,
But now my gracious numbers are decay'd
And my sick Muse doth give another place.
I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument
Deserves the travail of a worthier pen,
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
He robs thee of and pays it thee again.
He lends thee virtue and he stole that word
From thy behavior; beauty doth he give
And found it in thy cheek; he can afford
No praise to thee but what in thee doth live.
Then thank him not for that which he doth say,
Since what he owes thee thou thyself dost pay.

LXXX.

O, how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame!
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark inferior far to his
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
Or being wreck'd, I am a worthless boat,
He of tall building and of goodly pride:
Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
The worst was this; my love was my decay.

LXXXI.

Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten;
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read,
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
You still shall live--such virtue hath my pen--
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.

LXXXII.

I grant thou wert not married to my Muse
And therefore mayst without attaint o'erlook
The dedicated words which writers use
Of their fair subject, blessing every book
Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue,
Finding thy worth a limit past my praise,
And therefore art enforced to seek anew
Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days
And do so, love; yet when they have devised
What strained touches rhetoric can lend,
Thou truly fair wert truly sympathized
In true plain words by thy true-telling friend;
And their gross painting might be better used
Where cheeks need blood; in thee it is abused.

LXXXIII.

I never saw that you did painting need
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
The barren tender of a poet's debt;
And therefore have I slept in your report,
That you yourself being extant well might show
How far a modern quill doth come too short,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute,
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb;
For I impair not beauty being mute,
When others would give life and bring a tomb.
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
Than both your poets can in praise devise.

LXXXIV.

Who is it that says most? which can say more
Than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where your equal grew.
Lean penury within that pen doth dwell
That to his subject lends not some small glory;
But he that writes of you, if he can tell
That you are you, so dignifies his story,
Let him but copy what in you is writ,
Not making worse what nature made so clear,
And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,
Making his style admired every where.
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.

LXXXV.

My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still,
While comments of your praise, richly compiled,
Reserve their character with golden quill
And precious phrase by all the Muses filed.
I think good thoughts whilst other write good words,
And like unletter'd clerk still cry 'Amen'
To every hymn that able spirit affords
In polish'd form of well-refined pen.
Hearing you praised, I say ''Tis so, 'tis true,'
And to the most of praise add something more;
But that is in my thought, whose love to you,
Though words come hindmost, holds his rank before.
Then others for the breath of words respect,
Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect.

LXXXVI.

Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all too precious you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence
As victors of my silence cannot boast;
I was not sick of any fear from thence:
But when your countenance fill'd up his line,
Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.

LXXXVII.

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.

LXXXVIII.

When thou shalt be disposed to set me light,
And place my merit in the eye of scorn,
Upon thy side against myself I'll fight,
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.
With mine own weakness being best acquainted,
Upon thy part I can set down a story
Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted,
That thou in losing me shalt win much glory:
And I by this will be a gainer too;
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,
The injuries that to myself I do,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.

LXXXIX.

Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence;
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,
To set a form upon desired change,
As I'll myself disgrace: knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle and look strange,
Be absent from thy walks, and in my tongue
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,
Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee against myself I'll vow debate,
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.

XC.

Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow,
And do not drop in for an after-loss:
Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scoped this sorrow,
Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe;
Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,
To linger out a purposed overthrow.
If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,
When other petty griefs have done their spite
But in the onset come; so shall I taste
At first the very worst of fortune's might,
And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.

XCI.

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their bodies' force,
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my measure;
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,
Of more delight than hawks or horses be;
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away and me most wretched make.

XCII.

But do thy worst to steal thyself away,
For term of life thou art assured mine,
And life no longer than thy love will stay,
For it depends upon that love of thine.
Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs,
When in the least of them my life hath end.
I see a better state to me belongs
Than that which on thy humour doth depend;
Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind,
Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie.
O, what a happy title do I find,
Happy to have thy love, happy to die!
But what's so blessed-fair that fears no blot?
Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.

XCIII.

So shall I live, supposing thou art true,
Like a deceived husband; so love's face
May still seem love to me, though alter'd new;
Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place:
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change.
In many's looks the false heart's history
Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange,
But heaven in thy creation did decree
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell;
Whate'er thy thoughts or thy heart's workings be,
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
if thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!

XCIV.

They that have power to hurt and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces
And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

XCV.

How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport,
Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise;
Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
O, what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their habitation chose out thee,
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot,
And all things turn to fair that eyes can see!
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.

XCVI.

Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport;
Both grace and faults are loved of more and less;
Thou makest faults graces that to thee resort.
As on the finger of a throned queen
The basest jewel will be well esteem'd,
So are those errors that in thee are seen
To truths translated and for true things deem'd.
How many lambs might the stern wolf betray,
If like a lamb he could his looks translate!
How many gazers mightst thou lead away,
If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state!
But do not so; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

XCVII.

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness every where!
And yet this time removed was summer's time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

XCVIII.

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew;
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play:

XCIX.

The forward violet thus did I chide:
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed.
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair:
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see
But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.

C.

Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

CI.

O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
Both truth and beauty on my love depends;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say
'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd;
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay;
But best is best, if never intermix'd?'
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so; for't lies in thee
To make him much outlive a gilded tomb,
And to be praised of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how
To make him seem long hence as he shows now.

CII.

My love is strengthen'd, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear:
That love is merchandized whose rich esteeming
The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
Our love was new and then but in the spring
When I was wont to greet it with my lays,
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days:
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue,
Because I would not dull you with my song.

CIII.

Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument all bare is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside!
O, blame me not, if I no more can write!
Look in your glass, and there appears a face
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines and doing me disgrace.
Were it not sinful then, striving to mend,
To mar the subject that before was well?
For to no other pass my verses tend
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;
And more, much more, than in my verse can sit
Your own glass shows you when you look in it.

CIV.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived:
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred;
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

CV.

Let not my love be call'd idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Therefore my verse to constancy confined,
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
'Fair, kind and true' is all my argument,
'Fair, kind, and true' varying to other words;
And in this change is my invention spent,
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
'Fair, kind, and true,' have often lived alone,
Which three till now never kept seat in one.

CVI.

When in the chronicle of wasted time
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have express'd
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And, for they look'd but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Had eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

CVII.

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assured
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes,
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes:
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.

CVIII.

What's in the brain that ink may character
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must, each day say o'er the very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallow'd thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page,
Finding the first conceit of love there bred
Where time and outward form would show it dead.

CIX.

O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie:
That is my home of love: if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.

CX.

Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old offences of affections new;
Most true it is that I have look'd on truth
Askance and strangely: but, by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end:
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.

CXI.

O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide
Than public means which public manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
Pity me then and wish I were renew'd;
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection
No bitterness that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance, to correct correction.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.

CXII.

Your love and pity doth the impression fill
Which vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?
You are my all the world, and I must strive
To know my shames and praises from your tongue:
None else to me, nor I to none alive,
That my steel'd sense or changes right or wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of others' voices, that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:
You are so strongly in my purpose bred
That all the world besides methinks are dead.

CXIII.

Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind;
And that which governs me to go about
Doth part his function and is partly blind,
Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
For it no form delivers to the heart
Of bird of flower, or shape, which it doth latch:
Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch:
For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight,
The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,
The mountain or the sea, the day or night,
The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature:
Incapable of more, replete with you,
My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue.

CXIV.

Or whether doth my mind, being crown'd with you,
Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery?
Or whether shall I say, mine eye saith true,
And that your love taught it this alchemy,
To make of monsters and things indigest
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble,
Creating every bad a perfect best,
As fast as objects to his beams assemble?
O,'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing,
And my great mind most kingly drinks it up:
Mine eye well knows what with his gust is 'greeing,
And to his palate doth prepare the cup:
If it be poison'd, 'tis the lesser sin
That mine eye loves it and doth first begin.

CXV.

Those lines that I before have writ do lie,
Even those that said I could not love you dearer:
Yet then my judgment knew no reason why
My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer.
But reckoning time, whose million'd accidents
Creep in 'twixt vows and change decrees of kings,
Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp'st intents,
Divert strong minds to the course of altering things;
Alas, why, fearing of time's tyranny,
Might I not then say 'Now I love you best,'
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest?
Love is a babe; then might I not say so,
To give full growth to that which still doth grow?

CXVI.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

CXVII.

Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all
Wherein I should your great deserts repay,
Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;
That I have frequent been with unknown minds
And given to time your own dear-purchased right
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
Which should transport me farthest from your sight.
Book both my wilfulness and errors down
And on just proof surmise accumulate;
Bring me within the level of your frown,
But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate;
Since my appeal says I did strive to prove
The constancy and virtue of your love.

CXVIII.

Like as, to make our appetites more keen,
With eager compounds we our palate urge,
As, to prevent our maladies unseen,
We sicken to shun sickness when we purge,
Even so, being full of your ne'er-cloying sweetness,
To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding
And, sick of welfare, found a kind of meetness
To be diseased ere that there was true needing.
Thus policy in love, to anticipate
The ills that were not, grew to faults assured
And brought to medicine a healthful state
Which, rank of goodness, would by ill be cured:
But thence I learn, and find the lesson true,
Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.

CXIX.

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,
Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted
In the distraction of this madding fever!
O benefit of ill! now I find true
That better is by evil still made better;
And ruin'd love, when it is built anew,
Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
So I return rebuked to my content
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.

CXX.

That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow which I then did feel
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time,
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O, that our night of woe might have remember'd
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.

CXXI.

'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd,
When not to be receives reproach of being,
And the just pleasure lost which is so deem'd
Not by our feeling but by others' seeing:
For why should others false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses reckon up their own:
I may be straight, though they themselves be bevel;
By their rank thoughts my deeds must not be shown;
Unless this general evil they maintain,
All men are bad, and in their badness reign.

CXXII.

Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
Full character'd with lasting memory,
Which shall above that idle rank remain
Beyond all date, even to eternity;
Or at the least, so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist;
Till each to razed oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd.
That poor retention could not so much hold,
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score;
Therefore to give them from me was I bold,
To trust those tables that receive thee more:
To keep an adjunct to remember thee
Were to import forgetfulness in me.

CXXIII.

No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change:
Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange;
They are but dressings of a former sight.
Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire
What thou dost foist upon us that is old,
And rather make them born to our desire
Than think that we before have heard them told.
Thy registers and thee I both defy,
Not wondering at the present nor the past,
For thy records and what we see doth lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste.
This I do vow and this shall ever be;
I will be true, despite thy scythe and thee.

CXXIV.

If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd'
As subject to Time's love or to Time's hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gather'd.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto the inviting time our fashion calls:
It fears not policy, that heretic,
Which works on leases of short-number'd hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic,
That it nor grows with heat nor drowns with showers.
To this I witness call the fools of time,
Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.

CXXV.

Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which prove more short than waste or ruining?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent,
For compound sweet forgoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent?
No, let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborn'd informer! a true soul
When most impeach'd stands least in thy control.

CXXVI.

O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:
Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.

CXXVII.

In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame:
For since each hand hath put on nature's power,
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' brows are raven black,
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
Slandering creation with a false esteem:
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says beauty should look so.

CXXVIII.

How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blest than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

CXXIX.

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust,
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight,
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait
On purpose laid to make the taker mad;
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

CXXX.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

CXXXI.

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art,
As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel;
For well thou know'st to my dear doting heart
Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel.
Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold
Thy face hath not the power to make love groan:
To say they err I dare not be so bold,
Although I swear it to myself alone.
And, to be sure that is not false I swear,
A thousand groans, but thinking on thy face,
One on another's neck, do witness bear
Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place.
In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds,
And thence this slander, as I think, proceeds.

CXXXII.

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,
Have put on black and loving mourners be,
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,
Nor that full star that ushers in the even
Doth half that glory to the sober west,
As those two mourning eyes become thy face:
O, let it then as well beseem thy heart
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace,
And suit thy pity like in every part.
Then will I swear beauty herself is black
And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

CXXXIII.

Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!
Is't not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engross'd:
Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken;
A torment thrice threefold thus to be cross'd.
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail;
Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard;
Thou canst not then use rigor in my gaol:
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

CXXXIV.

So, now I have confess'd that he is thine,
And I myself am mortgaged to thy will,
Myself I'll forfeit, so that other mine
Thou wilt restore, to be my comfort still:
But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free,
For thou art covetous and he is kind;
He learn'd but surety-like to write for me
Under that bond that him as fast doth bind.
The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take,
Thou usurer, that put'st forth all to use,
And sue a friend came debtor for my sake;
So him I lose through my unkind abuse.
Him have I lost; thou hast both him and me:
He pays the whole, and yet am I not free.

CXXXV.

Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,'
And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in overplus;
More than enough am I that vex thee still,
To thy sweet will making addition thus.
Wilt thou, whose will is large and spacious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine?
Shall will in others seem right gracious,
And in my will no fair acceptance shine?
The sea all water, yet receives rain still
And in abundance addeth to his store;
So thou, being rich in 'Will,' add to thy 'Will'
One will of mine, to make thy large 'Will' more.
Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill;
Think all but one, and me in that one 'Will.'

CXXXVI.

If thy soul check thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will,'
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;
Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.
'Will' will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.
In things of great receipt with ease we prove
Among a number one is reckon'd none:
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy stores' account I one must be;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee:
Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will.'

CXXXVII.

Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is take the worst to be.
If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks
Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?
Why should my heart think that a several plot
Which my heart knows the wide world's common place?
Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth upon so foul a face?
In things right true my heart and eyes have erred,
And to this false plague are they now transferr'd.

CXXXVIII.

When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

CXXXIX.

O, call not me to justify the wrong
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;
Use power with power and slay me not by art.
Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside:
What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy might
Is more than my o'er-press'd defense can bide?
Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies,
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:
Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,
Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.

CXL.

Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so;
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their physicians know;
For if I should despair, I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee:
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be,
That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.

CXLI.

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote;
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.

CXLII.

Love is my sin and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
O, but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And seal'd false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robb'd others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lovest those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that when it grows
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied!

CXLIII.

Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her feather'd creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe and makes an swift dispatch
In pursuit of the thing she would have stay,
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,
Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent
To follow that which flies before her face,
Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;
So runn'st thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind;
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me,
And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind:
So will I pray that thou mayst have thy 'Will,'
If thou turn back, and my loud crying still.

CXLIV.

Two loves I have of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.
To win me soon to hell, my female evil
Tempteth my better angel from my side,
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,
Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend
Suspect I may, but not directly tell;
But being both from me, both to each friend,
I guess one angel in another's hell:
Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

CXLV.

Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate'
To me that languish'd for her sake;
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom,
And taught it thus anew to greet:
'I hate' she alter'd with an end,
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away;
'I hate' from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying 'not you.'

CXLVI.

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
[ ] these rebel powers that thee array;
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?
Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

CXLVII.

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are,
At random from the truth vainly express'd;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

CXLVIII.

O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then love doth well denote
Love's eye is not so true as all men's 'No.'
How can it? O, how can Love's eye be true,
That is so vex'd with watching and with tears?
No marvel then, though I mistake my view;
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.
O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.

CXLIX.

Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend?
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon?
Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in myself respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind;
Those that can see thou lovest, and I am blind.

CL.

O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantize of skill
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O, though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state:
If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
More worthy I to be beloved of thee.

CLI.

Love is too young to know what conscience is;
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no father reason;
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her love for whose dear love I rise and fall.

CLII.

In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn,
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing,
In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn,
In vowing new hate after new love bearing.
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjured most;
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee
And all my honest faith in thee is lost,
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness,
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy,
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness,
Or made them swear against the thing they see;
For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured eye,
To swear against the truth so foul a lie!

CLIII.

Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of Love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,
But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire--my mistress' eyes.

CLIV.

The little Love-god lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

一

对天生的美人我们要求蕃盛,
以便美的玫瑰永久不会枯死,
但开透的花朵既要及时雕零,
就应把记忆交给柔滑的后嗣;
但你,只和你本身的明眸定情,
把本身当燃料豢养眼中的火焰,
和本身尴尬刁难,待本身未免太狠,
把一片丰沃的地盘变成荒田。
你此刻是大年夜地的清爽的点缀,
又是斑斓阳春的唯一的前锋,
为甚么把富源断送在嫩蕊里,
和顺的鄙夫,要鄙吝,反而浪用?
  可怜这个世界吧,要不然,贪夫,
  就吞噬世界的份,由你和宅兆。
  
二

当四十个冬季围攻你的红颜,
在你美的场地挖下深的┞方壕,
你芳华的华服,那么被人艳羡,
将成褴褛的败絮,谁也不要瞧:
那时人若问起你的美在何处,
哪里是你那少壮年光光阴的宝藏,
你说,"在我这双深陷的眼眶里,
是贪婪的耻辱,和无益的歌颂。"
你的美的用处会更值得歌颂,
若是你可以或许说,"我这宁馨幼童
将总结我的┞匪,饶恕我的垂老,"
证实他的美在担当你的血统!
  这将使你在朽迈的老年底年更生,
  并使你垂冷的血液感应重温。

三

照照镜子,奉告你那镜中的脸庞,
说此刻这庞儿应当另造一副;
若是你不从速为它重建殿堂,
就棍骗世界,剥掉落母亲的幸福。
由于哪里会有女人那么淑贞
她那童贞的胎不肯被你耕种?
哪里有汉子那么蠢,他竟甘心宁可
做本身的宅兆,绝本身的血统?
你是你母亲的镜子,在你里面
她唤回她的盛年的芳菲四月:
一样,从你老年底年的窗你将眺见--
纵皱纹满脸--你这黄金的岁月。
  可是你活着若不肯被人惦记,
  就独自死去,你的肖像和你一路。

四

姣美的荡子,为甚么把你那份
美的遗产在你本身身上耗尽?
造化的奉送非赐予,她只出赁;
她慷慨,只赁给宽宏大年夜量的人。
那么,斑斓的鄙夫,为甚么滥用
那交给你转交给他人的厚礼?
亏蚀的印子钱者,为甚么浪用
那么一笔大年夜款,还不克不及过日子?
由于你既然只和本身经商,
就即是棍骗你那娇媚的自我。
如许,你将拿甚么账目去交代,
当造化唤你回到她怀里长卧?
  你未用过的美将同你进宅兆;
  用呢,就活着去履行你的遗言。
  
五

那些时辰曾用轻巧的细工
织就这众目共注的可爱明眸,
终有天对它摆出魔王的脸孔面孔,
把绝代佳丽剁成龙锺的老丑:
由于不舍昼夜的光阴把盛夏
带到狰狞的冬季去把它成果;
朝气被严霜梗塞,绿叶又全下,
白雪掩埋了美,满目是赤裸裸:
那时辰若是夏天还没有经提炼,
让它凝成喷鼻露锁在玻璃瓶里,
美和美的流泽将一路被截断,
美,和美的记忆都无人再提起:
  但提炼过的花,纵和冬季对抗,
  只掉掉落色彩,却永久吐着清芬。
  
六

那么,别让冬季嶙峋的手抹掉落
你的夏天,在你未经提炼之前:
熏喷鼻一些瓶子;把你美的财宝
藏在宝库里,趁它还未及磨灭。
如许的假贷实在不是背禁取利,
既然它使那甘愿答应纳息的欢畅;
这是说你该为你另生一个你,
或,一个生十,就十倍地荣幸;
十倍你本身比你此刻更欢愉,
若是你有十个儿子来重现你:
如许,即便你长辞,死将奈你何,
既然你继续活在你的后裔里?
  别任性:你那么斑斓,何必甘心宁可
  做死的成功品,让蛆虫做子孙。
  
七

看,当普照万物的太阳从东方
抬起了火红的头,下界的眼睛
都对他初升的气象暗示敬佩,
用目光来恭候他神圣的驾临;
然后他既登上了苍穹的山顶颠峰,
像精力饱满的壮年,英姿英发,
万平易近的眼睛还是跪拜他的峥嵘,
牢牢追随着他那奔驰的金驾。
但当他,像耄年拖着尘倦的车轮,
从绝顶颤巍巍地分开了白日,
众目便一齐从他下沉的足印
移开它们那本来恭敬的视野。
  一样,你的光辉的日中一磨灭,
  你就会暗暗死去,若是没后嗣。
  
八

我的音乐,为何听音乐会生悲?
甜蜜不相克,欢愉使欢愉欢笑。
为何爱那你不欢畅爱的器材,
或为何乐于接管你的懊末路?
若是动听的声音的完美调和
和亲挚的调和会惹起你烦忧,
它们不过委宛地责备你不该
用独奏梗塞你心中那部合奏。
试看这一根弦,另外一根的夫君,
如何和谐地彼此呼应和振荡;
似乎父亲、儿子和欢愉的母亲,
它们联成了一片,齐声在欢唱。
  它们的无言之歌都异曲同工
  对你唱着:"你单身就一切皆空。"
  
九

是不是由于怕打湿你孀妇的眼,
你在单身生活里消磨你本身?
哦,若是你不幸无后分开人世,
世界就要哀哭你,像丧偶的妻。
世界将是你孀妇,她永久悲伤
你生前没给她留下你的面貌;
其他的孀妇,靠儿女们的眼睛,
反能把夫君的肖像在心里长保。
看吧,荡子活着上的各种华侈
只换了主人,世界仍然在享受;
但美的耗损在人世将有终尾:
留着不消,就即是任由它陈旧陈腐。
  如许的心决不会对他人有爱,
  既然它那么忍心把本身戕害。
  
一○

羞呀,否定你并不是不爱任何人,
对待你本身却那么欠缺绸缪。
承认,随你便,很多人对你钟情,
但说你实在不爱谁,谁也要点头。
由于怨毒的杀机那么缠住你,
你不吝多方设计把本身戕害,
锐意摧残你那座峥嵘的殿宇,
你唯一动机却该是把它重盖。
哦,从速转意吧,让我也好转意!
难道憎比温婉的爱反得处优?
你那么貌美,愿你也一样心慈,
不然最少对你本身也要和顺。
  另造一个你吧,你若是真爱我,
  让美在你儿子或你身上永活。
  
逐一

和你一样快地低沉,你的儿子,
也将一样快活着界发展起来;
你灌注给芳华的┞封新奇血液
仍将是你的,当芳华把你抛开。
这里面活着聪明、斑斓和昌隆;
没有这,便是笨拙、朽迈和陈旧陈腐:
人人都如许想,就要钟停漏尽,
六十年便足使世界子虚乌有。
让那些人生来不配生养传宗,
粗莽、丑恶和拙笨,无后地死去;
造化的至宠,她的奉送也最丰,
该尽可能爱护保重她这慷慨的赐予:
  她把你刻做她的印,意思是要
  你多印几份,并不是要毁掉落原稿。
  
一二

当我数着壁上报时的自鸣钟,
见明媚的白天坠入狰狞的夜,
当我凝睇着紫罗兰老了春容,
青丝的卷发遍洒着皑皑白雪;
当我看见参天的树枝叶尽脱,
它不久前曾荫蔽喘气的牛羊;
夏天的翠绿一束一束地就缚,
带着坚挺的白须被舁上殓床;
因而我不由为你的红颜焦炙:
终有天你要插手光阴的废堆,
既然美和芳菲都把本身丢弃,
眼看着他人发展本身却枯萎;
  没甚么抵抗得住光阴的辣手,
  除生养,当他来要把你拘走。
  
一三

哦,希望你是你本身,但爱呀,你
终非你有,当你不再活活着上:
对这将临的日子你得要筹办,
快交给他人你那漂亮的肖像。
如许,你所租赁的红颜就永久
不会有满期;因而你又将变成
你本身,当你已分开了人世,
既然你儿子保存着你的倩影。
谁肯让一座如许的华厦倾颓,
若是谨慎地看管便可以保护
它的光华,去抵当寒冬的狂吹
和那刻毒的死神无情的暴怒?
  哦,除非是荡子;我爱呀,你知道
  你有父亲;让你儿子也可高傲。
  
一四

并不是从星斗我汇集我的揣度;
可是我觉得我也精通占星学,
但并不是为了推算气运的通蹇,
和饥荒、瘟疫或四时的风色;
我也不克不及为急促的时辰算命,
指出每个时辰的雷电和风雨,
或为国王占卜流年是不是亨顺,
根据我常从上苍探得的天机。
我的法术只得自你那双明眸,
恒定的双星,它们前兆这吉祥:
只要你改变主张肯储蓄传后,
真和美将双双偕你永久其昌。
  要不然关于你我将如许昭示:
  你的末日也就是真和美的死。
  
一五

当我默察一切活跃泼的朝气
保持它们的芳菲都不过一瞬,
宇宙的舞台只搬弄一些幻术
被上苍的星宿在冥冥中牵引;
当我发觉人和草木一样蕃衍,
任同一的天把他鼓动鼓励和禁止,
少壮时欣欣向荣,盛极又必反,
富贵和璀璨都被从记忆抹掉落;
因而这一切奄忽浮生的┞拂候
便把妙龄的你在我眼前呈列,
目睹残暴的光阴与陈旧陈腐共谋,
要把你芳华的白天化作黑夜;
  为了你的爱我将和光阴争持:
  他摧折你,我要把你从头接枝。
  
一六

可是为甚么不消更凶的编制
去抵当这血淋淋的魔王--光阴?
不消比我的枯笔吉祥的兵器,
去防御你的衰朽,把本身加强?
你此刻站在黄金时辰的绝顶,
很多少女的花圃,还未经播种,
纯洁地切盼你那残暴的群英,
比你的画像更酷肖你的┞锋容:
只有生命的线能把生命重描;
光阴的画笔,或我这枝弱管,
不管心里的美或表面的姣好,
都不克不及使你在人们眼前活现。
  献出你本身仍然保有你本身,
  而你得活着,靠你本身的妙笔。
  
一七

将来的期间谁会相信我的诗,
若是它布满了你最高的美德?
固然,天知道,它只是一座坟场
埋着你的生命和一半的本质。
若是我写得出你美目标流盼,
用清爽的韵律细数你的秀妍,
将来的期间会说:"这诗人扯谎:
如许的天姿哪里会落在人世!"
因而我的诗册,被岁月所熏黄,
就要被人鄙视,像饶舌的老头;
你的┞锋容被诬作诗人的疯狂,
和一支古歌的夸大的节拍:
  但那时你如有个儿子在人世,
  你就活两次:在他身上,在诗里。
  
一八

我如何可以或许把你来比作夏天?
你不独比它可爱也比它温婉:
狂风把五月宠嬖的嫩蕊作践,
夏天出赁的刻日又未免太短:
天上的眼睛有时照得太酷烈,
它那炳耀的金颜又常遭遮掩:
被机缘或无常的天道所摧折,
没有芳艳不终究雕残或烧毁。
可是你的长夏永久不会雕零,
也不会损掉你这雪白的红芳,
或死神夸口你在他影里流落,
当你在不朽的诗里与时同长。
  只要一天有人类,或人有眼睛,
  这诗将长存,并且赐给你生命。
  
一九

贪吃的光阴,去磨钝雄狮的爪,
命大年夜地吞噬本身宠嬖的幼婴,
去猛虎的颚下把它利牙拔掉落,
焚毁长命的凤凰,灭尽它的种,
使季候在你飞逝时或悲或喜;
并且,捷足的光阴,尽肆意地摧残
这大年夜千世界和它易谢的芳菲;
只有这极恶大年夜罪我避免你犯:
哦,别把岁月刻在我爱的额上,
或用古老的铁笔乱画下皱纹:
在你的飞逝里不要把它弄脏,
好留给后代永作斑斓的典型。
  但,固然跋扈狂,老光阴,凭你多狠,
  我的爱在我诗里将万古长青。
  
二○

你有副女人的脸,由造化亲手
塑就,你,我酷爱的情妇兼情郎;
有颗女人的温婉的心,但没有
几次和变幻,像女人的假心肠;
眼睛比她明媚,又不那么造作,
流盼把一切事物都镀上黄金;
绝世的美色,驾驭着一切美色,
既使汉子晕眩,又使女人震动。
开首原是把你当女人来创作发现:
但造化塑造你时,不觉着了迷,
误加给你一件器材,这就剥掉落
我的权力--这器材对我毫无意义。
  但造化造你既专为女人兴奋,
  让我占有,而她们享受,你的爱。

二一

我的诗神①实在不像那一名诗神
只知应用脂粉涂抹他的诗句,
连苍穹也要搬下来作妆饰品,
列举每个佳丽去赞他的佳丽,
用各种夸大的比方作成对偶,
把他比太阳、月亮、海陆的┞蜂宝,
四月的鲜花,和这浩大的宇宙
蕴藏在它的怀里的一切奇奥。
哦,让我既真心爱,就真心歌颂,
并且,相信我,我的爱可以媲美
任何母亲的儿子,固然论敞亮
比不上挂在天空的金色烛台。
  谁喜好空话,让他尽说个不穷;
  我志不在出售,自用不着祷颂。
  
二二

这镜子决不克不及使我相信我老,
只要大年夜好年光光阴和你还是同年;
但当你脸上呈现光阴的深槽,
我就盼死神来告终我的天年。
由于那一切妆点着你的斑斓
都不过是我心里的概况光华;
我的心在你胸中跳动,正如你
在我的:那么,我怎会比你先衰?
哦,我的爱呵,请千万本身保重,
像我保重本身,乃为你,非为我。
怀抱着你的心,我将那么慎重,
像慈母防护着婴儿蒙受病魔。
  别侥幸独存,若是我的心先碎;
  你把心交我,并不是为把它收回。
  
二三

仿佛舞台上初度表演的伶人
慌乱中竟忘记了本身的角色,
又像被触犯的野兽满腔肝火,
它那过猛的气力反使它胆寒;
一样,贫乏着沉着,我不觉忘掉落
进行爱情的仪节的彬彬盛典,
被我爱情的过度重量所胜过,
在我本身的酷爱中一息奄奄。
哦,请让我的诗篇做我的辩士,
替我把缠绵的衷曲默默诉说,
它为爱情申述,并企求着赏赐,
多于那对你絮絮叨叨的狡舌:
  请学会去读沉默的爱的情书,
  用眼睛来听原属于爱的妙术。
  
二四

我眼睛扮作画家,把你的肖像
刻画在我的心版上,我的肉体
就是那嵌着你的姣颜的镜框,
而画家的无上的宝贝是透视。
你要透过画家的奇妙去发见
那收藏你的奕奕真容的处所;
它长挂在我胸内的画室中间,
你的眼睛倒是画室的玻璃窗。
试看眼睛多么会帮眼睛的忙:
我的眼睛画你的像,你的倒是
开向我胸中的窗,从那边太阳
喜好去偷看那藏在里面的你。
  可是眼睛的艺术终欠这高超:
  它只能画外表,却不熟谙心里。
  
二五

让那些人(他们既有吉星高照)
处处夸说他们的显位和高官,
至于我,命运回绝我这类光荣,
只暗中独自赏玩我心里所欢。
王公的宠臣伸展他们的金叶
不过像太阳眷顾下的金盏花,
他们的高傲在本身身上覆灭,
一蹙额便足雕谢他们的荣华。
转战疆场的名将不管多功高,
战无不胜后只要有一次掉手,
便从功名册上被人一笔勾消,
毕生的勋劳只落得无声无臭:
  那么,爱人又被爱,我多么幸福!
  我既不会迁徙,又不怕被摈除。
  
二六

我爱情的至尊,你的美德已
使我这藩属加强对你的推戴,
我此刻寄给你这诗当作青鸟使,
去向你述职,并不是要向你炫才。
职责那么重,我又才拙少俊语,
不免要显得赤裸裸和她相见,
但望你的妙思,不嫌它太粗鄙,
在你魂灵里把它的赤裸裸遮掩;
因此不管甚么星照引我出息,
都对我露出一副和悦的笑脸,
把华服加给我这寒伧的爱情,
使我配得上你那缠绵的恩宠。
  那时我才敢对你炫耀我的爱,
  不然怕你考验我,总要躲起来。
  
二七

筋疲力尽,我从速到床上躺下,
去安息我那成天劳顿的四肢;
但顿时我的脑筋又整装解缆,
以劳我的心,当我身已得歇息。
由于我的思想,不辞离乡背井,
虔诚地趱程要到你那边进喷鼻,
睁大年夜我这双沉沉欲睡的眼睛,
向着瞎子看得见的暗中凝睇;
不过我的魂灵,凭着它的幻眼,
把你的倩影献给我掉明的双眸,
像颗明珠在阴沉的夜里高悬,
变老丑的黑夜为明丽的白天。
  如许,日里我的腿,夜里我的心,
  为你、为我本身,都得不着安然安静安静。
  
二八

那么,我如何可以或许喜洋洋归来,
既然得不着半晌身心的安眠?
当白日的压逼入夜实在不稍衰,
只是夜继日、日又继夜地压逼?
日和夜平常平凡虽事事各不相下,
却彼此携手来把我轮番挫折,
一个用跋涉,一个却呶呶怒骂,
说我分开你更远,虽成天跋涉。
为奉迎白日,我告它你是光亮,
在阴云密布时你将把它映照。
我又如许说去讨黑夜的欢心:
当星星不眨眼,你将为它闪烁。
  但天天白日尽拖长我的苦痛,
  夜夜黑夜又使我的忧思转凶。
  

二九

当我受尽命运和人们的白眼,
暗暗地记念本身的出身漂荡,
徒用呼吁去干扰聋瞆的昊天,
傲视着身影,谩骂本身的生辰,
愿我和另外一个一样富于希望,
面孔类似,又和他一样广交游,
企求此人的渊博,那人的熟行,
最赏心的乐事感觉最不仇家;
可是,当我正要如许看轻本身,
俄然想起了你,因而我的精力,
便像云雀拂晓从阴霾的大年夜地
振翮上升,高唱着圣歌在天门:
  一想起你的爱使我那么富有,
  和帝王换位我也不屑于屈就。
  
三○

当我传唤对已往事物的记忆
出庭于那馨喷鼻的默想的公堂,
我不由为射中很多缺点感喟,
带着宿恨,从头哭蹉跎的光阴;
因而我可以覆没那枯涸的眼,
为了那些长埋在夜台的亲朋,
记念着很多音容俱渺的美艳,
痛哭那情爱久已勾消的哀思:
因而我为畴昔的难熬而难熬,
并且逐一细算,从疾苦到疾苦,
那很多哭泣过的哭泣的旧账,
仿佛还未付过,此刻又来偿付。
  可是只要那刻我想起你,好友,
  损掉全收回,哀思也子虚乌有。
  
三一

你的襟怀胸怀有了那些心而越可亲
(它们的磨灭我只道已死去);
本来爱,和爱的一切可爱部分,
和埋掉落的友情都在你怀里藏住。
多少为哀思而流的圣洁泪珠
那虔诚的爱曾从我眼睛盗取
去祭奠死者!我此刻才恍然大年夜悟
他们只分开我去住在你的心里。
你是座收藏过去恩典的芳塚,
满挂着死去的恋人的记念牌,
他们把我的奉送尽向你呈贡,
你独自享受很多人应得的爱。
  在你身上我看见他们的倩影,
  而你,他们的总和,尽有我的心。
  
三二

倘你活过我迟疑满志的大年夜限,
当鄙夫"死神"用黄土把我掩埋,
偶然重翻这低劣可怜的诗卷,
你恋人生前写来献给你的爱,
把它和当代超脱的新诗相比,
发觉它的词笔处处都不如人,
请保存它专为我的爱,而不是
为那被荣幸的天才超出的韵。
哦,那时辰就请赐给我这爱思:
"假如我伴侣的诗神与时同长,
他的爱就会带来更美的产儿,
可和这世纪任何佳构同俯仰:
  但他既死去,诗人们又都迈进,
  我读他们的文采,却读他的心。"
  
三三

多少次我曾看见光辉的朝阳
用他那至尊的眼媚悦着山顶,
金色的脸庞吻着青碧的草场,
把暗淡的溪水镀成一片黄金:
然后陡然任那最卑贱的云彩
带着黑影驰过他神圣的霁颜,
把他从这苦楚的世界藏起来,
偷移向西方去掩埋他的污点;
一样,我的太阳曾在一个清朝
带着光辉的光华临照我前额;
可是唉!他只一刻是我的光荣,
下界的乌云已把他和我遮隔。
  我的爱却实在不是以把他鄙贱,
  天上的太阳有瑕疵,何况人世!
  
三四

为甚么预告那么璀璨的日子,
哄我不携带大年夜衣便出来游行,
让鄙贱的乌云中途把我侵袭,
用臭腐的烟雾掩蔽你的光亮?
你觉得此刻打破乌云来晒干
我脸上淋漓的雨点便已满足?
须知无人会歌颂如许的药丹:
只能医治创伤,但洗不了赤诚。
你的愧赧也无补于我的心疼;
你虽已反悔,我仍然不免损掉:
对背着赤诚的十字架的人,
冲犯者引咎只是微弱的安慰。
  唉,但你的爱所流的泪是明珠,
  它们的都丽够赎你的罪有余。
  
三五

别再为你冲犯我的行动疾苦:
玫瑰花有刺,银色的泉有烂泥,
乌云和蚀把太阳和月亮玷辱,
可恶的毛虫把喷鼻的嫩蕊豆剖。
每小我都有错,我就犯了这点:
应用各种比方来诠释你的恶,
弄脏我本身来洗涤你的罪愆,
赦免你那无可赦免的大年夜错过。
由于对你的败行我加以谅解--
你的原告变成了你的辩白士--
我对你告状,反而把本身出卖:
爱和憎老在我心中彼此排挤,
  乃至我不克不及不变成你的助手
  去帮你劫夺我,你,和顺的小偷!
  
三六

让我承认我们俩必然要分手,
固然我们那分不开的爱是一体:
如许,很多留在我身上的瑕疵,
将不消你分担,由我独自承起。
你我的相爱全出于一片至诚,
固然分歧的生活把我们隔开,
这即使改变不了爱情的┞锋纯,
却偷掉落很多密约佳期的欢畅。
我不再会大声认你做知己,
生怕我可哀的罪恶使你含垢,
你也不克不及再当众把我来歌颂,
除非你甘心宁可使你的名字蒙羞。
  可别如许做;我既然如许爱你,
  你是我的,我的荣光也属于你。
  
三七

像一个朽迈的父亲欢畅去看
活跃的儿子表演芳华的手法,
一样,我,受了命运的暴虐摧残,
从你的精诚和美德找到气力。
由于,不管美、家世、财富或才调,
或这一切,或其一,或多于这一切,
在你身上至高无上,我都把
我的爱在你这个宝藏上嫁接。
那么,我实在不残废、贫困、被轻藐,
既然这类种幻影都那么充分,
使我从你的敷裕得满足,并倚靠
你的名望的一部分安然度日。
  看,生命的珍宝,我暗祝你尽有:
  既有这心愿,我便十倍地无忧。
  
三八

我的诗神如何会找不到诗料,
当你还呼吸着,灌注给我的诗哦,
感激你本身吧,若是我诗中
有值得一读的献给你的目光:
哪里有哑巴,写到你,不善祷颂--
既然是你本身照亮他的想象?
做第十位艺神吧,你要比凡夫
所祈求的古代九位高超很多;
有谁向你呼吁,就让他献出
一些可以传长远的不朽诗歌。
  我微贱的诗神如可取悦于世,
  疾苦属于我,所有歌颂全归你。
  


三九

哦,我怎能不越礼地把你称道,
当我的最美好部分全属于你?
歌颂我本身对我本身有何用?
歌颂你岂不即是歌颂我本身?
就是为这点我们也得要分手,
使我们的爱名义上各自独处,
以便我可以,在如许分手以后,
把你该独得的歌颂全数献出。
分袂呵!你会给我多大年夜的痛创,
借使假如你辛酸的闲暇不核准我
拿出甜蜜的情思来接待光阴,
用蜜语把光阴和相思蒙混过--
  若是你不教我如何化一为二,
  使我在这里歌颂远方的人儿!
  
四○

夺掉落我的爱,爱呵,请十足夺去;
看看比你已有的能多些甚么?
没甚么,爱呵,称得上真情实义;
我所爱早属你,纵使不添这个。
那么,你为爱我而接管我所爱,
我不克不及对你这享受加以责备;
但得受责备,若甘心宁可自我欺绐,
你专心贪尝不肯接管的器材。
我可以谅解你的打劫,和顺贼,
固然你把我唯一的十足偷走;
可是,忍耐爱情的暗害,爱知道,
比仇恨的明伤是更大年夜的烦忧。
  风骚的娇媚,连你的恶也娇媚,
  固然鸩杀我,我们可别相仇视。

四一

你那猖獗放任不羁所犯的风骚罪
(当我有时辰远远分开你的心)
与你的美貌和芳华那么相配,
不管到哪里,诱惑都把你追寻。
你那么温文,谁不想把你篡夺?
那么姣好,又如何不被人围攻?
而当女人寻求,凡女人的儿子
谁能坚苦挣扎,不向她怀里送?
唉!但你总没必要把我的位儿占,
并斥责你的斑斓和芳华的利诱:
它们引你去犯那么大年夜的狂乱,
使你不克不及不撕毁了两重誓约:
  她的,由于你的美诱她去就你;
  你的,由于你的美对我掉信义。
  
四二

你占有她,并不是我最大年夜的忧闷,
可是我对她的爱不克不及说不深;
她占有你,才是我首要的烦忧,
这爱情的损掉更能使我悲伤。
爱的冲犯者,我如许谅解你们:
你所以爱她,由于知道我爱她;
也是为我的原故她把我欺瞒,
让我的伴侣替我周到接待她。
掉掉落你,我所掉是我恋人所获,
掉掉落她,我伴侣却找着我所掉;
你俩彼此找着,而我掉掉落两个,
两个都为我的原故把我磨折:
  但这就是欢愉:你和我是一体;
  甜蜜的捧场!她却只爱我本身。
  
四三

我眼睛闭得最紧,看得最敞亮:
它们成天只看见无味的器材;
而当我入眠,梦中却向你凝睇,
阴暗的火焰,背后放射幽辉。
你的影子既能教黑影放光亮,
对闭上的眼照耀得那么光辉,
你影子的形会构成如何的美景,
在清明的白日里用更清明的光!
我的眼睛,我说,会感应多荣幸
若可以或许凝睇你在彼苍白日中,
既然在死夜里你那不完全的影
对酣睡中闭着的眼透出光容!
  天天都是黑夜一向到看见你,
  夜夜是白日当好梦把你显示!
  
四四

假定我这拙笨的体质是思想,
不作美的间隔就不克不及禁止我,
由于我就会从那迢迢的远方,
不管多隔断,被带到你的居所。
那么,纵使我的腿站在那离你
最远的天涯,对我有甚么故障?
空灵的思想不管想达到哪里,
它立即可以飞越崇山和大年夜海。
可是唉,这思想鸩杀我:我并不是思想,
能飞越辽远的万里当你去后;
而只是满盛着泥水的钝皮郛,
就只好用哀号去把光阴服侍;
  这两种重浊的元素毫无所赐
  除眼泪,二者的忧?的标记。
  
四五

其余两种,轻清的风,净化的火,
一个是我的思想,一个是欲望,
都是和你一路,不管我居何所;
它们又在又不在,神速地交往。
由于,当这两种较轻巧的元素
带着爱情的和顺任务去见你,
我的生命,本赋有四大年夜,只守住
两个,就不堪其愁闷,奄奄待毙;
直到生命的连系得完全恢复
由于这两个火速使者的来归。
它们现正从你那边回来,欣悉
你起居康吉,在向我欣欣告慰。
  说完了,我乐,可是实在不好悠长,
  我打发它们归去,顿时又忧闷。
  
四六

我的眼和我的心在作决死战,
如何去把你姣好的面貌分赃;
眼儿要把心和你的形象隔断间隔,
心儿又不甘心把这权力相让。
心儿传播鼓吹你在它的深处潜隐,
从没有明眸闯得进它的宝箱;
被告却把这申辩果断地否定,
说是你的倩影在它里面收藏。
为解决这悬案就不克不及不聘请
我心里所有的住户--思想--协商;
它们的共同的判词终究决定
明眸和亲挚的心应得的分量
  以下:你的仪表属于我的眼睛,
  而我的心┞芳有你心里的爱情。
  
四七

此刻我的眼和心缔结了同盟,
为的是彼此辅佐和彼此布施:
当眼儿巴望要一见你的尊容,
或痴情的心将近给感喟梗塞,
眼儿就把你的画像大年夜摆筵桌,
聘请心去插手这图画的盛宴;
有时辰眼睛又是心的座上客,
去把它缠绵的情思均匀分沾:
如许,或靠你的像或我的迷恋,
你本人虽阔别还是和我在一路;
你不克不及比我的情思走得更远,
我老随着它们,它们又随着你;
  或,它们倘睡着,我眼中的像
  就把心唤醒,使心和眼都兴奋。
  
四八

我是多么谨慎,在未上路之前,
为了留以备用,把琐碎的事物
逐一锁在箱子里,使获得保险,
不致被一些奸滑的手所亵渎!
但你,比起你来珠宝同样成废品,
你,我最亲最好和唯一的悬念,
无上的慰安(此刻是最大年夜的悲伤)
却留下来让每个窃匪肆意拿。
我没有把你锁进任何保险箱,
除你不在的处所,而我感觉
你在,那就是我的暖和的心房,
从那边你可以随便进进出出;
  就是在那边我还怕你被偷走:
  看见如许珍宝,虔诚也变窃匪。
  
四九

为抵当那一天,假如终有那一天,
当我看见你对我的错误谬误蹙额,
当你的爱已花完最后一文钱,
被周详的顾虑催去清理账目;
为抵当那一天,当你像生客走过,
不消那太阳--你眼睛--向我致候,
当爱情,已改变了脸孔,要搜罗
各种必须决绝的持重的来由;
为抵当那一天我就躲在这里,
在对本身的得当评价内安身,
并且高举我这只手当众宣誓,
为你的各种正当的来由包管:
  丢弃可怜的我,你有法令保障,
  既然为甚么爱,我无来由可讲。
  
五○

多么沉重地我在旅途上跋涉,
当我的目标地(我倦旅的终点)
挑唆安闲和憩息如许对我说:
"你又分开了你的伴侣那么远!"
那驮我的畜牲,经不起我的忧厄,
驮着我心里的重负渐渐地走,
仿佛这畜牲凭某种本能知道
它主人不爱快,由于离你远游:
有时末路怒用那血淋淋的靴钉
猛刺它的皮,也不克不及把它催促;
它只是沉重地报以一声呻吟,
对我,比刺它的靴钉还要残暴,
  由于这呻吟使我觉悟和熟筹:
  我的忧闷在前面,欢愉在后头。
  
五一

如许,我的爱便可谅解那笨兽
(当我分开你),不嫌它走得太慢:
从你地点地我何必仓促跑走?
除非是归来,绝对不消把路赶。
那时可怜的畜牲怎会得宽容,
当极真个灵敏还要显得迟钝?
那时我就要猛刺,纵使在御风,
如飞的速度我只感觉是搁浅:
那时就没有马能和欲望齐驱;
是以,欲望,由最抱负的爱构成,
就引颈长嘶,当它火似地飞奔;
但爱,为了爱,将如许饶恕那畜牲:
  既然别你的时辰它成心慢走,
  归程我就下来跑,让它得自由。
  
五二

我像那财主,他那荣幸的钥匙
能把他带到他的心爱的宝藏,
可是他实在不肯经常把它启视,
以避免磨钝那可贵的锋利的快感。
所以过节是那么肃静和罕见,
由于在一年中仅疏疏地到临,
就像宝石在首饰上稀稀嵌就,
或大年夜颗的┞蜂珠在璎珞上晶莹。
一样,那保存你的光阴就仿佛
我的宝箱,或装着华服的衣橱,
以便偶一重展那被囚的宝光,
使一些幸福的良辰额外幸福。
  你真命运,你的美德可以或许令人
  有你,喜洋洋,你不在,不堪神驰。
  
五三

你的本质是甚么,用甚么造成,
使得万千个倩影都追随着你?
每人都只有一个,每人,一个影;
你一人,却能幻作千万个影子。
试为阿都尼写生,他的画像
不过是仿照你的低劣的赝品;
尽可能把美容术施在海伦颊上,
便是你披上希腊妆的新的┞锋身。
一提起春的明媚和秋的敷裕,
一个把你的绰约的倩影显示,
另外一个倒是你的慷慨的写照;
一切天生的漂亮都包含着你。
  一切外界的娇媚都有你的份,
  但谁都没有你那颗坚毅的心。
  
五四

哦,美看起来要更美很多少倍,
若再有真加给它温馨的装潢!
玫瑰花很美,但我们感觉它更美,
由于它吐出一缕甜蜜的芳喷鼻。
野蔷薇的姿色也是一样旖旎,
比起玫瑰的芳馥四溢的姣颜,
同挂在树上,一样会搔首弄姿,
当夏天呼息使它的嫩蕊轻展:
但它们唯一的美德只在色相,
开时无人眷恋,委谢也无人理;
孤单地死去。喷鼻的玫瑰却两样;
她那温馨的死可以变成喷鼻液:
  你也如此,斑斓而可爱的芳华,
  当年光光阴雕谢,诗提取你的纯精。
  
五五

没有云石或王公们金的墓碑
可以或许和我这些强劲的诗比寿;
你将永久闪烁于这些诗篇里,
远胜过那被光阴涂脏的石头。
当着残暴的┞方争把铜像颠覆,
或内哄把城池荡成一片废墟,
不管战神的剑或战争的炎火
都毁不掉落你的遗芳的活汗青。
冲幻灭亡和湮没一切的仇恨,
你将昂然站起来:对你的歌颂
将在万世万代的眼睛里彪炳,
直到这世界耗损完了的末日。
  如许,直到最后审判把你唤醒,
  你长在诗里和恋人眼里照映。
  
五六

和顺的爱,恢复你的劲:别被说
你的刀锋赶不上食欲那样快,
食欲只今天饱餐后暂觉满足,
到明天又还是一样饕餐起来:
愿你,爱呵,也一样:你那双饿眼
固然今天已饱看到腻得直眨,
明天还得看,别让持久的瘫痪
把那爱情的精矫捷生生窒煞:
让这苦楚的间歇恰像那隔断间隔
两岸的海洋,那边一对情侣
天天到岸边相会,当他们看见
爱的来归,心里感应加倍欢愉;
  不然,唤它做冬季,布满了忧悒,
  使夏至三倍受欢迎,三倍希罕。
  
五七

既然是你奴隶,我有甚么可做,
除不时刻刻服侍你的心愿?
我毫无珍贵的时候可消磨,
也无事可做,直到你有所驱遣。
我不敢骂那绵绵无尽的时刻,
当我为你,主人,把时辰来看管;
也不敢抱怨分袂是多么残暴,
在你已把你的家丁解雇后;
也不敢用吃醋的动机去摸索
你事实在哪里,或为甚么繁忙,
只是,像个可怜的奴隶,呆想着
你地点的处所,人们会多幸福。
  爱这白痴是那么无救药的呆
  凭你为所欲为,他都不感觉坏。
  
五八

那使我做你奴隶的神不容我,
若是我要管束你行乐的光阴,
或清理你如何把日子消磨,
既然是奴隶,就得服从你放浪:
让我忍耐,既然甚么都得依你,
你那自由的离弃(于我是监牢);
让忍耐,惯了,接管每次训斥,
绝不会抱怨你对我侵害分毫。
不管你欢畅到哪里,你那契约
那么有效,你自有绝对的主权
去安排你的时候;你犯的罪恶
你也有主权随便把本身赦免。
  我只能等候,固然等候是地狱,
  不责备你行乐,任它是善或恶。
  
五九

若是全国无新事,此刻的各种
畴前都有过,我们的脑筋多被骗,
当它苦心要创作发现,却怀孕成功
一个前代有过的婴孩的重担!
哦,希望汗青能用回溯的目光
(纵使太阳已运行了五百周),
在古书里对我显示你的肖像,
自从心灵第一次写成了句读!--
让我知道前人曾如何说法,
关于你那雍容的身形的奇异;
是我们高超,还是他们优越,
或所谓演变实在并没有二致。
  哦,我敢必定,很多才子在前代
  曾赞美过远不如你的题材。
  
六○

像波浪滚滚不息地滚向沙岸:
我们的工夫息息奔赴着终点;
后浪和前浪不竭地循环替换,
前推后拥,一个个在奋勇当先。
生辰,一度出现于光涟黟海,
爬行到壮年,然后,既登上极顶,
凶冥的日蚀便遮没它的光华,
光阴又撕毁了它畴前的赠品。
光阴戳破了芳华颊上的光艳,
在美的前额挖下深陷的┞方壕,
自然的至珍都被它肆意狂喊,
一切耸立的都难逃它的镰刀:
  可是我的诗将来将耸峙千古,
  称道你的美德,不管它多残暴!

六一

你是不是专心用影子使我渐渐
欲闭的眼睛睁向厌厌的永夜?
你是不是要我展转反侧不成寐,
用你的影子来玩弄我的视野?
那可是从你那边派来的魂灵
阔别了家园,来刺探我的行动,
来找我的荒废和赤诚的时辰,
和履行你的吃醋的权柄和范围?
不呀!你的爱,虽多,实在不那么大年夜:
是我的爱使我张开我的眼睛,
是我的┞锋情把我的睡眠打倒,
为你的原因一夜守候到天明!
  我为你守夜,而你在别处复苏,
  远远背着我,和他人却太接近。
  
六二

自爱这罪过占有着我的眼睛,
我全部的魂灵和我身体各部;
而对这罪过甚么药石都无灵,
在我心内扎根扎得那么深固。
我相信我本身的端倪最娟秀,
态度最率真,襟怀胸怀又那么俊伟;
我的优点对我如许估计本身:
不管哪一方面我都出类拔萃。
但当我的镜子照出我的┞锋相,
全被那焦黑的老年剁得稀烂,
我对自爱又有相反的感慨:
如许宠嬖着本身实在是罪愆。
  我称道本身就即是把你称道,
  用你的芳华来粉创新我的寒冬。
  
六三

像我此刻一样,我爱人将不免
被光阴的辣手所粉碎和耗损,
那时辰吮干他的血,使他的脸
布满了皱纹;当他韶年的清朝
已爬到老年底年的巉岩的黑夜,
使他所占据的一切风骚逸韵
都渐渐覆灭或已全数覆灭,
偷走了他的春季所有的至珍;
为那时辰我此刻就严阵以待
去抵当泼辣光阴的残暴利刃,
使他没法把我爱的芳菲勾消,
虽则他可以或许砍断我爱的生命。
  他的丰韵将在这些诗里现形,
  墨迹长在,而他也将万古长青。
  
六四

当我目睹前代的都丽和豪华
被光阴的手绝不留情地磨灭;
当巍峨的塔我目睹沦为碎瓦,
连不朽的铜也不免一场大难;
当我目睹那欲壑难填的大年夜海
一步一步把岸上的国土腐蚀,
汪洋的水又渐渐被陆地覆盖,
掉既变成了得,得又变成了掉;
当我看见这一切扰攘和废兴,
或连废兴一旦也子虚乌有;
毁灭便教我再三如许地检讨:
光阴终要跑来把我的爱带走。
  哦,多么致命的思想!它只可以或许
  哭着去把那刻刻怕掉去的┞芳有。
  
六五

既然铜、石、或大年夜地、或无边的海,
没有不平服于那阴惨的无常,
美,她的活力比一朵花还柔脆,
怎能和他那肃杀的严重抵当?
哦,夏天温馨的呼息怎能撑持
残暴的日子刻刻狠恶的轰炸,
当岩石,不管多么么险固,或钢扉,
不管多固执,都要被光阴熔化?
哦,骇人的思想!光阴的┞蜂饰,
唉,怎可以或许不被收进光阴的宝箱?
甚么劲手能挽他的捷足回来,
或谁能避免他把斑斓夺抢?
  哦,没有谁,除非这古迹有气力:
  我的爱在笔墨里永久放光线。
  
六六

厌了这一切,我向安眠的死疾呼,
例如,目睹天才注定做求乞子,
无聊的草包服装得衣冠楚楚,
纯粹的信义不幸而被人背弃,
金冠可耻地戴在行尸的头上,
童贞的┞逢操蒙受大年夜盗的玷辱,
严厉的┞俘义被人不法地诟让,
勇士被当权的跛子弄成残破,
笨拙摆起博士架子把握才能,
艺术被官府统治得结舌箝口,
浑厚的┞锋诚被人瞎称为笨拙,
囚徒"善"不克不及不把统帅"恶"服侍:
  厌了这一切,我要分开人寰,
  但,我一死,我的爱人便孤独。
  
六七

唉,我的爱为甚么要和臭腐同居,
把他的绰约的风韵让人亵渎,
乃至罪过得以和他结成伴侣,
涂上纯粹的外表来眩耀线人?
哄人的脂粉为甚么要替他写真,
从他的奕奕神采盗取死形似?
为甚么,既然他是玫瑰花的┞锋身,
可怜的美还要找玫瑰的影子?
为甚么他得活着,当造化破了产,
贫乏鲜血去灌注淡红的脉络?
由于造化此刻只有他作富源,
自诩富有,却靠他的利润度日。
  哦,她收藏他,为使荒歉的今天
  熟谙畴前曾有过如何的丰年。
  
六八

如许,他的红颜是古代的图志,
那时美开了又谢像今天花一样,
那时冒牌的艳色还不曾出世,
或未敢公然高据活人的额上,
那时死者的美发,宅兆的财富,
还未被偷剪下来,去活第二回
在第二个头上②;那时美的死金鬟
还未被用来使他人显得华贵:
这圣洁的古代在他身上闪现,
赤裸裸的┞锋容,毫无一点铅华,
不消他人的翠绿做他的夏天,
不掠夺旧脂粉妆饰他的鲜花;
  就如许造化把他当图志收藏,
  让假艺术欣赏古代美的┞锋相。
  
六九

你那众木懿睹的无瑕的芳容,
谁的心思都不克不及再加以增改;
众口,魂灵的声音,都一致附和:
赤的┞锋理,连仇敌也没法袒护。
如许,概况的赞美载满你仪表;
但同一声音,既致应有的崇拜,
便另换口气去把这赞美勾消,
把稳灵看到眼看不到的心里。
它们向你那魂灵的美的海洋
用你的品行作丈量器去切磋,
因而鄙吝的思想,眼睛虽大年夜方,
便加给你的鲜花以野草的恶臭:
  为甚么你的喷鼻味赶不上外不雅?
  土壤是如许,你自然长得通俗。
  
七○

你受人指摘,实在不是你的瑕疵,
由于斑斓永久是离间的对象;
斑斓的无上的装潢就是猜忌,
像乌鸦在最晴朗的天空翱翔。
所以,检核些,谗言只能更捧场
你的美德,既然光阴对你钟情;
由于恶蛆最爱那甜蜜的嫩蕊,
而你的┞俘是纯粹无瑕的早春。
你已超出年轻日子的埋伏,
或未遭受攻击,或已降服敌手;
可是,对你如许的歌颂实在不足
堵住那不竭扩大年夜的妒忌的口:
  若没有猜忌把你的清光遮掩,
  多少个心灵的王国将归你独占。
  
七一

我死去的时辰别再为我哀思,
当你闻声那沉重惨痛的葬钟
普告给全世定义我已分开
这肮脏世界去伴最肮脏的虫:
不呀,当你读到这诗,别再记起
那写它的手;由于我爱到如许,
甘愿被遗忘在你甜蜜的心里,
若是想起我会使你不堪哀伤。
若是呀,我说,若是你看见这诗,
那时辰或许我已化作土壤,
连我这可怜的名字也别提起,
希望你的爱与我的生命同腐。
  免得这聪明世界猜透你的心,
  在我死去后把你也当作笑柄。
  
七二

哦,免得这世界要强逼你自招
我有甚么好处,使你在我身后
还是爱我,爱人呀,把我全忘掉落,
因外我一点值得提的都没有;
除非你假造出一些斑斓的谎,
过度为我吹嘘我应有的价值,
把瞑目长眠的我捧场和嘉奖,
远超越鄙吝的事实所愿昭示:
哦,怕你的┞锋爱是以显得虚假,
怕你为爱的原故替我扯谎话,
愿我的名字永久和肉体同埋,
免得活下去把你和我都羞煞。
  由于我可怜的作品使我羞惭,
  而你爱不值得爱的,也该愧赧。
  
七三

在我身上你或许会看见秋季,
当黄叶,或尽脱,或只三三两两
挂在瑟缩的枯枝上索索抖颤--
荒废的歌坛,那边百鸟曾合唱。
在我身上你或许会看见暮霭,
它在日掉队向西方缓缓减退:
黑夜,死的化身,渐渐把它赶开,
严静的安眠笼住纷繁的万类。
在我身上你或许全看见余烬,
它在芳华的寒灰里岌岌可危,
在暗澹灵床上早晚总要销魂,
给那滋养过它的炎火所烧毁。
  看见了这些,你的爱就会加强,
  由于他转眼要辞你忽然长往。
  
七四

可是安心吧:当那无情的拘票
终究丝绝不宽假地把我带走,
我的生命在诗里将仍然长保,
永生的记念品,永久和你相守。
当你重读这些诗,就即是重读
我献给你的至纯无二的生命:
尘埃只能有它的份,那就是尘埃;
魂灵却属你,这才是我的┞锋身。
所以你不过掉掉落生命的糟粕
(当我肉体身后),恶蛆们的食饵,
无赖的刀下一个怯懦的俘获,
太卑贱的秽物,不配被你记忆。
  它唯一的价值就在它的内蕴,
  那就是这诗:这诗将和它长存。
  
七五

我的心需要你,像生命需要粮食,
或像大年夜地需要及时的甘霖;
为你的安然安静安静我心里那么凄惶
就像贪夫和他的财富作斗争:
他,有时自诩财主,然后又顾虑
这惯窃的期间会偷他的财宝;
我,有时感觉最好独自伴着你,
俄然又感觉该把你当众炫耀:
有时饱餐秀色后腻到化不开,
渐渐地又饿得慌要瞟你一眼;
既不占有也不寻求别的欢畅,
除掉落那你已施或要施的恩情。
  如许,我成天垂涎或成天不消化,
  我狼吞虎咽,或一点也咽不下。
  
七六

为甚么我的诗那么缺新光华,
赶不上现代善变多姿的风尚?
为甚么我不学时人旁征博采
那竞奇斗艳,穷妍极巧的新腔?
为甚么我写的始终别无二致,
寓情思旨趣于一些老调陈言,
几近每句都说出我的名字,
流露它们的出身,它们的来历?
哦,须知道,我爱呵,我只把你描,
你和爱情就是我唯一的主题;
推陈出新是我的无上的诀窍,
我把开支过的,不竭从头开支:
  由于,正如太阳天天新天天旧,
  我的爱把说过的事絮絮叨叨。
  
七七

镜子将奉告你红颜如何磨灭,
日规如何一秒秒耗去你的华年;
这白纸所要记录的你的心迹
将教你细细玩味下面的教言。
你的镜子所忠厚反应的皱纹
将令你记起那张开口的宅兆;
从日规上阴影的潜移你将认清,
光阴走向长时的暗暗的脚步。
看,把记忆所不克不及保存的器材
交给这张白纸,在那边面你将
看见你精力的产儿遭到抚养,
使你从头熟谙你心灵的底蕴。
  这些日课,只要你常拿来重温,
  将有益于你,并丰富你的书本。
  
七八

我经常把你当诗神向你祷告,
在诗里找到那么有力的神助,
乃至凡陌生的笔都把我仿效,
在你名义下把他们的诗漫衍。
你的眼睛,曾教会哑巴们歌颂,
曾教会沉重的愚笨高飞上天,
又把新羽毛加给博学的同党,
加给温文尔雅以两重的庄重。
可是我的诗应当最让你高傲,
它们的出世全在你的感化下:
对他人的作品你只润色格调,
用你的美在他们才调上添花。
  但对我,你就是我全数艺术,
  把我的呆笨提到博学的高度。
  
七九

当初我独自一个哀告你协助,
只有我的诗占有你一切娇媚;
但此刻我清爽的韵律既陈腐,
我的病诗神只好给他人让位。
我承认,爱呵,你这美好的题材
值得更高超的笔的精写细描;
可是你的诗人不过向你还债,
他把夺自你确当作他的创作发现。
他赐你美德,美德这词他只从
你的行动盗取;他加给你秀妍,
实在从你颊上得来;他的称道
没有一句不是从你身上发见。
  那么,请别感激感动他对你的奖饰,
  既然他只把欠你的向你了偿。
  
八○

哦,我写到你的时辰多么气馁,
得知有更大年夜的天才操纵你名字,
他不吝费极气力去把你歌颂,
使我箝口结舌,一提起你名誉!
但你的价值,像海洋一样无边,
不管轻舟或兵舰一样能载起,
我这鲁莽的艇,固然小得可怜,
也向你茫茫的海心大年夜胆行驶。
你最浅的滩濑已足使我空洞,
而他岸岸然驶向你万顷汪洋;
或,万一覆没,我只是片轻帆,
他倒是布局宏伟,心胸轩昂:
  若是他安然达到,而我遭掉败,
  最不幸的是:毁我的是我的爱。

八一

不管我将活着为你写墓志铭,
或你未亡而我已在地下陈旧陈腐,
纵使我已被遗忘得一干二净,
死神将不克不及把你的忆念夺走。
你的名字将从这诗里得永生,
固然我,一去,对人世便即是死;
大年夜地只可以或许给我一座乱葬坟,
而你却将长埋在人们眼睛里。
我这些小诗便是你的记念碑,
将来的眼睛当然要百读不厌,
将来的舌头也将要传诵不衰,
当此刻呼吸的人已瞑目长眠。
  这强劲的笔将使你活在生气
  最蓬勃的处所,在人们的嘴里。
  
八二

我承认你并没有和我的诗神
结齐心,因此可以丝毫无愧恧
去俯览那些把你作主题的诗人
对你的歌颂,嘉奖着每本诗集。
你的聪明和姿色都一样出众,
又发觉你的价值比我的歌颂高,
因此你不克不及不到别处去追踪
这迈进期间的更活泼的写照。
就这么办,爱呵,但当他们既已
使尽了夸大的辞藻把你描画,
真美的你只能由朴拙的知己
用真朴的话把你真实地表达;
  他们的浓脂粉只配拿去染红
  贫血的脸颊;对你倒是滥用。
  
八三

我从不感觉你需要涂脂荡粉,
因此从不消脂粉涂你的红颜;
我发觉,或觉得发觉,你的丰韵
远超越诗人献你的无味缠绵:
是以,关于你我的歌只装瞌睡,
好让你本身活泼地现身说法,
证实时下的文笔是多么粗笨,
想把美德,你身上的美德增华。
你把我这沉默许为我的罪过,
实在却应当是我最大年夜的荣光;
由于我不出声于美丝毫无损,
他人想给你生命,反把你埋葬。
  你的两位诗人所摹拟的歌颂,
  远不如你一只慧眼所藏的光辉。
  
八四

谁说得最好?哪个说得更美满
比起这丰美的赞词:"只有你是你"?
这赞词蕴藏着你的全数资产,
谁和你争妍,就必须和它对比。
那枝文笔实在是贫瘠得可怜,
若是它不克不及把题材稍事增华;
但谁写到你,只要他可以或许表示
你就是你,他的故事已够伟大年夜。
让他只照你原稿忠厚地直抄,
别把造化的清爽的素描弄坏,
如许的摹本已显出他的奇妙,
使他的气势处处受人们崇拜。
  你将对你美的祝贺加以咒诅:
  太爱人歌颂,连美也变成俗气。
  
八五

我的闭口的诗神只脉脉无语;
他们对你的美评却累牍连篇,
用金笔刻成光辉精明的大年夜字,
和颠末一切艺神砥砺的名言。
我满腔热忱,他们却善颂善祷;
像不识字的牧师只知喊"阿门",
去响应才子们用精辟的笔调
熔铸成的每首歌颂的歌咏。
闻声人歌颂你,我说,"的确,很对",
凭他们如何称道我总嫌不敷;
但只在心里说,由于我对你的爱
虽拙于词令,行动却永久带头。
  那么,请敬他们,为他们的虚文;
  敬我,为我的瞠目结舌的┞锋诚。
  
八六

是不是他那雄浑的诗句,昂昂然
扬帆直驶去篡夺太珍贵的你,
使我成熟的思想在脑里流产,
把孕育它们的胎盘变成坟场?
是不是他的心灵,从鬼魂学会写
超凡的警句,把我活生生殛毙?
不,既不是他本人,也不是黑夜
遣送给他的助手,能使我昏倒。
他,或他阿谁驯良可亲的鬼魂
(它夜夜用机灵骗他),都不克不及高傲
是他们把我打倒,使我缄口不言;
他们的威胁绝不克不及把我吓倒。
  但当他的诗布满了你的鼓动鼓励,
  我就要缺灵感;这才使我丧气。
  
八七

再会吧!你太珍贵了,我没法高攀;
明显你也知道你本身的声价:
你的价值的证券够把你赎还,
我对你的┞樊权只好全数作罢。
由于,不经你核准,我怎能占有你?
我哪有福分消受如许的┞蜂宝?
这美惠对我既然毫无按照,
便不克不及不打消我的专利执照。
你曾许了我,由于低估了本身,
不然就错识了我,你的受赐者;
是以,你这份厚礼,既出自误解,
就偿还给你,颠末更好的判决。
  如许,我曾占有你,像一个好梦,
  在梦里称王,醒来只是一场空。
  
八八

当你有一全国决心瞧我不起,
用侮蔑的目光衡量我的轻重,
我将站在你何处冲击我本身,
证实你贤德,固然你已背盟。
对本身的弱点我既那么熟行,
我将为你的好处假造我各种
无人发觉的过掉,把本身中伤;
使你丢弃了我反而获得名望:
而我也能够借此而大年夜有收获;
由于我全数情思那么偏向你,
我为本身所招惹的一切欺侮
既对你有益,对我就加倍有益。
  我那么衷心属你,我爱到那样,
  为你的佳誉愿承担一切离间。
  
八九

说你丢弃我是为了我的过掉,
我立即会对这冲犯加以阐说:
叫我做瘸子,我顿时两脚都躄,
对你的来由绝不作任何辩驳。
为了替你的几次无常找借口,
爱呵,凭你如何欺侮我,总比不上
我欺侮本身来得短长;既看破
你心肠,我就要绞杀友情,假装
路人避开你;你那可爱的名字,
那么喷鼻,将永不挂在我的舌头,
生怕我,太亵渎了,会把它委屈;
万一还会把我们的旧欢泄漏。
  我为你将展尽辩才否决本身,
  由于你所仇恨的,我绝不爱护保重。
  
九○

恨我,借使假如你欢畅;请此刻就开首;
此刻,当环球都起来和我尴尬刁难,
请顺势为命运助威,逼我垂头,
别不测埠走来作过后的摧毁。
唉,不要,当我的心已摆脱懊末路,
来为一个已降服的厄难作殿,
不要在狂风后再来一个雨朝,
把那注定的大难的到临迟延。
若是你要分开我,别比及最后,
当其他的烦忧已肆尽残暴;
请一开首就来:让我好先尝够
命运的权威包罗万象的凶暴。
  因而别的苦痛,此刻显得苦痛,
  比起损掉你来便要无影无踪。
  
九一

有人炫耀家世,有人炫耀技能,
有人炫耀财富,有人炫耀体力;
有人炫耀新妆,丑怪固然时髦;
有人炫耀鹰犬,有人炫耀骏骥;
每种嗜好都各饶特别的趣味,
每种都各自发得其乐无穷:
可是这些嗜好都分歧我口味--
我把它们融入更大年夜的乐趣中。
你的爱对我比家世还要豪华,
比财富还要充盈,比艳妆光华,
它的乐趣远胜过鹰犬和骏马;
有了你,我便可以笑傲全球:
  只有这点可怜:你随时可夺职
  我这一切,使我成非常的可怜。
  
九二

但固然你掉落臂一切偷偷溜走,
直到生命终点你还是属于我。
生命也不会比你的爱更悠长,
由于生命只靠你的爱才能活。
是以,我就不消怕最大年夜的灾难,
既然最小的已足置我于死地。
我看见一个对我更幸福的境地,
它不会随着你的爱憎而转移:
你的几次不再克不及使我颓废,
既然你一反脸我生命便终了。
哦,我找到了多么幸福的保障:
幸福地享受你的爱,幸福地死去!
  但人世哪有不怕玷辱的完竣?
  你可以变心肠,同时对我隐瞒。
  
九三

因而我将活下去,认定你忠贞,
像被骗的┞飞夫,因而爱的脸孔
对我仿照还是是爱,虽则已翻了新;
眼睛尽望着我,心儿却在别处:
仇恨既没法存在于你的眼里,
我就没法看出你心肠的改变。
很多人每段假情假义的汗青
都在颦眉、蹙额或气色上表示;
但上天造你的时辰早已注定
柔情要永久在你的脸上勾留;
不管你的心如何变幻无凭准,
你眼睛只能诉说旖旎和和顺。
  你的娇媚会变成夏娃的苹果,
  若是你的美德跟外表不共同。
  
九四

谁有气力侵害人而不如许干,
谁不做人觉得他们爱做的事,
谁令人动情,本身却石头一般,
冰冷、无动于中,对诱惑能抗拒--
谁就恰本地承受上天的恩宠,
长于蕴藏和保管造化的财富;
他们步崆本身美貌的主人翁,
而他人只是本身姿色的家奴。
夏天的花把夏天熏很多芳馥,
固然对本身它只自开又自落,
可是那花若染上卑鄙的病毒,
最贱的野草也比它崇高很多:
  极喷鼻的器材一腐臭就成极臭,
  烂百合花比野草更臭得难受。
  
九五

赤诚被你弄成多和顺多可爱!
恰像馥郁的玫瑰花心的毛虫,
它把你含苞欲放的美名污败!
哦,多少温馨把你的罪恶遮蒙!
那讲述你的生平故事的长舌,
想对你的文娱作淫猥的评论,
只能用一种歌颂口气来贬责:
一提起你名字,诽谤也变谄佞。
哦,那些罪恶找到了多大年夜的华厦,
当它们把你遴选来作安乐窝,
在那儿美为污点披上了轻纱,
在那儿触目标一切都变清和!
  警戒呵,心肝,为你这特权警戒;
  最快的刀被滥用也掉去锋利!
  
九六

有人说你的错误谬误在年少猖獗放任;
有人说你的魅力在年少风骚;
魅力和错误谬误都多少受人赞美:
错误谬误变成添在魅力上的斑斓。
宝座上的女王手上戴的戒指,
就是最贱的宝石也受人尊敬,
一样,那在你身上呈现的瑕疵
也变成真谛,当作真谛被推许。
多少绵羊会遭到野狼的勾引,
假定野狼戴上了绵羊的脸孔!
多少倾慕你的人会被你拐走,
假定你肯把你全数气力使出!
  可别如许做;我既然如许爱你,
  你是我的,我的名望也属于你。
  
九七

分开了你,日子多么像严冬,
你,飞逝的流年中唯一的欢乐!
天气多阴晦!我又受尽了寒冻!
触目是龙锺尾月的一片萧索!
可是分袂的期间恰好是夏季;
和膨胀着累累的丰收的秋季,
满载着芳华的淫荡结下的果实,
仿佛怀胎的新孀妇,大年夜腹便便:
可是这累累的丰收,在我看来,
只能成无父孤儿和乖异的果;
因夏天和它的欢娱把你接待,
你不在,连小鸟也遏制了唱歌;
  或,即便它们唱,音调那么沉,
  树叶全变灰了,生怕冬季降临。
  
九八

我分开你的时辰正好是春季,
当残暴的四月,披上新的锦袄,
把活跃的春情给万物灌注遍,
连沉重的土星③也随着笑和跳。
可是不管小鸟的歌颂,或万紫
千红、芳喷鼻四溢的一簇簇鲜花,
都不克不及使我诉说夏天的故事,
或从烂熳的山洼把它们采掐:
我也不恋慕那百合花的雪白,
也不歌颂玫瑰花的一片红晕;
它们不过是喷鼻,是好看标雕镂,
你才是它们所要摹拟的┞锋身。
  是以,于我还是严冬,而你不在,
  像逗着你影子,我逗它们畅怀。
  
九九*

我对孟浪的紫罗兰如许训斥:
"和顺贼,你哪里偷来这缕温馨,
若不是从我爱的呼息?这紫色
在你的柔颊上抹了一层红晕,
还不是从我爱的血管里染得?"
我训斥百合花盗用了你的手,
茉沃兰的蓓蕾盗取你的柔发;
站在刺上的玫瑰花吓得直抖,
一朵羞得通红,一朵掉望到发白,
另外一朵,不红不白,从两边偷来;
还在赃物上添上了你的呼息,
但既犯了盗窃,当它正昂头盛开,
一条气汹汹的毛虫把它咬死。
  我还看见很多花,但没有一朵
  不从你那边盗取芳喷鼻和婀娜。
  
一○○

你在哪里,诗神,竟持久忘记掉落
把你的一切气力的泉源歌颂?
为甚么华侈狂热于一些谰言,
耗损你的光去把俗物照亮?
回来吧,忘记的诗神,立即轻弹
宛转的旋律,赎回虚度的工夫;
唱给那衷心倾慕你并把灵感
和技能赐给你的笔的耳朵听。
起来,懒诗神,查抄我爱的秀容,
看光阴可曾在那边刻下皱纹;
假定有,就要尽可能把朽迈嘲讽,
使光阴的抄袭处处遭人齿冷。
  快使爱成名,趁光阴未下手前,
  你就挡得住它的风刀和霜剑。

一○一

偷懒的诗神呵,你将如何解救
你对那被美衬着的┞锋的怠慢?
真和美都与我的爱相依相守;
你也一样,要倚靠它才得通显。
说吧,诗神;你或许会如许答复:
"真的固定色采没必要用色采绘;
美也不消笔墨把美的┞锋容画;
用不着掺杂,完美永久是完美。"
难道他不需要歌颂,你就不出声?
别替沉默辩白,由于你有气力
使他比镀金的宅兆更享遐龄,
并在将来的年代永受人赞美。
  临危不惧吧,诗神,我要教你如何
  使他此后和此刻一样受钦慕。
  
一○二

我的爱加强了,固然看来更弱;
我的爱一样热,固然概况稍冷:
谁把贰心中的崇拜处处传播,
就即是把他的爱情看作商品。
我们那时才新恋,又正当春季,
我惯用我的歌去欢迎它来归,
像夜莺在夏天门前今夜清啭,
到了盛夏的日子便遏制歌吹。
并不是此刻夏天没有那么愉快
比起万籁静听它哀唱的时辰,
只为狂欢的音乐载满每枝,
太通俗,意味便没有那么深悠。
  所以,像它,我有时也默不出声,
  免得我的歌,太繁了,使你腻烦。
  
一○三

我的诗神的产品多窘蹙可怜!
分明有没有穷六合可炫耀才调,
可是她的题材,固然一无妆点,
比加上我的歌颂价值还要大年夜!
别驳诘我,若是我写不出甚么!
照照镜子吧,看你镜中的脸孔面孔
多么超出我的怪拙笨的创作,
使我的诗掉色,叫我愧汗怍人。
那可不是罪恶吗,尽力要增饰,
反而把本来无瑕的题材涂毁?
由于我的诗并没有其他目标,
除要仿照你的才情和娇媚;
  是的,你的镜子,当你向它打量,
  所反应的远远多于我的诗章。
  
一○四

对我,俊友,你永久不会哀老,
由于自从我的眼碰见你的眼,
你还是一样美。三个严冬摇掉落
三个苍翠的夏天的树叶和光艳,
三个阳春三度化作秋季的枯黄。
时序使我三度看见四月的芳菲
三度被六月的炎炎烈火烧光。
但你,还是和初见时一样明媚;
唉,可是美,像时针,它蹑着脚步
移过钟面,你看不见它的踪迹;
一样,你的姣颜,我觉得是常驻,
其实在移动,利诱的是我的眼睛。
  颤栗吧,将来的期间,听我呼吁:
  你还没有生,美的夏天已死去。
  
一○五

不要把我的爱叫作偶像崇拜,
也不要把我的爱人当偶像看,
既然所有我的歌和我的歌颂
都献给一个、为一个,永无变换。
我的爱今天仁慈,明天也仁慈,
有着惊人的美德,永久不变心,
所以我的诗也一样坚毅不渝,
全省掉落差别,只论述一件工作。
"美、善和真",就是我全数的题材,
"美、善和真",用分歧的词句表示;
我的创作发现就在这改变上演才,
三题一体,它的境地可真无穷。
  畴昔"美、善和真"经常各奔出息,
  到今天才在一小我身上调和。
  
一○六

当我从那湮远的古代的编年
发见那绝代风骚人物的写真,
艳色使得古老的歌咏也喷鼻艳,
颂赞着多情骑士和绝命佳人,
因而,从那些国色天姿的刻画,
不管手脚、嘴唇、或眼睛或眉额,
我发觉那些古拙的笔所表达
恰好是你此刻所占据的姿色。
所以他们的歌颂不过是预言
我们这期间,一切都预告着你;
不过他们不雅察只用想象的眼,
还不敷才调把你称道得尽致:
  而我们,幸而得亲眼看见今天,
  只有眼惊羡,却没有舌头咏叹。
  
一○七

不管我本身的忧愁,或那胡想着
将来的┞封茫茫世界的先知魂灵,
都不克不及限制我的┞锋爱的租约,
纵使它已注定作命运的抵偿品。
人世的月亮已度过被蚀的灾难,
不祥的┞芳卜把本身的预言嘲讽,
动荡和疑虑既已获得了保险,
和平在公布橄橄枝永久碧绿。
因而在这期间甘露的遍洒下,
我的爱面孔一新,而死神降伏,
既然我将活在这拙作里,任凭他
把那些痴顽的无言的种族欺侮。
  你将在这里找着你的记念碑,
  魔王的金盔和铜墓却被烧毁。
  
一○八

脑袋里有甚么,笔墨形容得出,
我这颗真心不已对你刻画?
还有甚么新器材可说可记录,
以剖明我的爱或你的┞锋价?
没有,乖乖;可是,虔诚的祷词
我没有一天不把它复说一遍;
老话实在不老;你属我,我也属你,
就像我祝贺你名字的头一天。
所以永久的爱在长青爱匣里
不会承受年事的侵害和尘埃,
不会让皱纹占有应有的位置,
反而把老光阴当作永久的家奴;
  发觉最初的爱苗还是得保养,
  固然光阴和表面都盼它枯黄。
  
一○九

哦,千万别抱怨我改变过心肠,
分袂虽仿佛减低了我的热忱。
正如我抛不开本身远走他方,
我也一刻离不开你,我的魂灵。
你是我的爱的家:我虽曾流浪,
此刻已像远行的游子归来;
并准时到家,没有跟光阴改样,
并且把洗涤我污点的水带来。
哦,请千万别相信(固然我不免
和他人一样经不起各类试诱)
我的本性会那么荒唐和鄙贱
竟丢弃你这珍宝去寻求乌有;
  这无垠的宇宙对我都是虚幻;
  你才是,我的玫瑰,我全数财富。
  
逐一○

唉,我的确曾经常东奔西跑,
扮作斑衣的小丑供众人赏玩,
背背我的意志,把珍宝贱卖掉落,
为了新交不吝把旧厚交冲犯;
更确切不移我曾斜着冷眼
去看真情;但天呀,这类种离乖
给我的心带来了另外一个春季,
最坏的考验证实了你的┞锋爱。
此刻一切都畴昔了,请你接管
无尽的友情:我不再把欲望磨利,
用新的摸索去考验我的老友--
那拘禁我的、钟情于我的神袛。
  那么,欢迎我吧,我的人世的天,
  迎接我到你最亲的纯粹的胸间。
  
逐一一

哦,请为我把命运的女神诟让,
她是嗾使我造成颐魅障的主犯,
由于她对我的生活别无供养,
除养成我粗鄙的众人米饭。
因此我的名字就把烙印④接管,
也几近为了这原因我的本性
被职业所玷辱,如同染工的手:
可怜我吧,并祝贺我获得更新;
像个和顺的病人,我甘心宁可饮服
涩嘴的醋来消弭我的重传染⑤;
不管它多苦,我将一点不觉苦,
也不辞两重反悔以赎我的罪愆。
  请同情我吧,好友,我向你担保
  你的同情已够把我医治好。
  
逐一二

你的怜爱抹掉落那世俗的讥谗
打在我的额上的赤诚的烙印;
他人的毁誉对我有甚么相干,
你既表扬我的善又把恶遮隐!
你是我全部宇宙,我必须尽力
从你的口里听取我的荣和辱;
我把他人,他人把我,都当作死,
谁能使我的死心肠变善或变恶?
他人的定见我全扔入了深渊,
那么洁净,我的确像聋蛇一般,
凭他阿谀或离间都不闻不问。
请聆听我如何谅解我的冷酷:
  你那么根深蒂固长在我心里,
  全球,除你,我都以为死去。
  
逐一三

自从分开你,眼睛便移专心里,
因而那双批示我行动的眼睛,
既把职守分隔,就成了半瞎子,
自发得还看见,实在已掉明;
由于它们所接触的任何外形,
花鸟或姿态,都不克不及再传给心,
本身也留不住把捉到的气象;
一切过眼的事物心儿都无份。
由于一见粗鄙或幽雅的风景,
最畸形的怪物或绝艳的脸孔面孔,
山或海,日或夜,乌鸦或白鸽,
眼睛立即塑成你美好的姿容。
  心中尽是你,甚么再也装不下,
  就如许我的┞锋心教眼睛扯谎话。
  
逐一四

是不是我的心,既把你当王冠戴,
喝过帝王们的鸩毒--自我捧场?
还是我该说,我眼睛说的全对,
由于你的爱教会它这炼金术,
使它可以或许把一切蛇神和牛鬼
转化为和你一样柔媚的天婴,
把每个丑恶改革成出色绝伦,
只要事物在它的柔辉下现形?
哦,是前者;是眼睛的自我沉醉,
我伟大年夜的心灵把它一口喝尽:
眼睛知道逢迎我心灵的口味,
为它筹办好这杯可口的毒饮。
  固然杯中有毒,罪恶总比较轻,
  由于先爱上它的是我的眼睛。
  
逐一五

我畴前写的那些诗全都扯谎,
连那些说"我爱你到顶点"在内,
可是那时辰我的确没法想象
白热的火还发得出更大年夜光辉。
只恐惧光阴的无数不测变乱
钻进密约间,勾销帝王的意旨,
晒黑美色,并挫钝锋锐的诡计,
使强硬的心服从事物的枯荣:
唉,为甚么,既怵于光阴的跋扈,
我不成说,"此刻我爱你到顶点,"
当我摆脱掉落疑虑,布满着决定信念,
感觉来日不成期,只把握今朝?
  爱是婴儿;难道我不成如许讲,
  去促使在发展中的羽毛饱满?
  
逐一六

我绝不承认两颗真心的连系
会有任何障碍;爱算不得真爱,
若是一看见人家改变便转舵,
或一看见人家转弯便分开。
哦,决不!爱是亘古长明的塔灯,
它定睛望着风暴却兀不为动;
爱又是指引迷舟的一颗恒星,
你可量它多高,它所值却无穷。
爱不受光阴的播弄,固然红颜
和皓齿不免蒙受光阴的辣手;
爱实在不因瞬息的改变而改变,
它巍然耸峙直到末日的绝顶。
  我这话若说错,并被证实不确,
  就算我没写诗,也没人真爱过。
  
逐一七

请如许控告我:说我缄口不言,
固然对你的深恩我该当酬谢;
说我忘记向你缠绵的爱慰劳,
固然我对你迷恋一天天紧密密切;
说我经常和陌生的心灵交往,
为偶然机缘殉国你珍贵交谊;
说我不管甚么风都把帆高扬,
任它们把我吹到天涯天涯去。
请把我的任性和弊端都记下,
在真凭实据上还要堆集嫌疑,
把我带到你的颦眉蹙额底下,
千万别唤醒怨毒来把我射死;
  由于我的诉状说我急于证实
  你对我的爱多么忠贞和果断。
  
逐一八

比如我们为了促使食欲促进,
用各种辛辣调味品刺激胃口;
又比如服清泻剂以预防大年夜病,
用较轻的病截断重症的根由;
一样,饱尝了你的不腻人的甜蜜,
我选上苦酱来当作我的食料;
厌倦了健康,觉抱病也成心思,
固然我还没有到生病的需要。
如许,为采取先发制病的手段,
爱的策略变成了真实的过掉:
我对健康的身体乱投下药丹,
用疾苦来把过度的幸福疗治。
  但我由此获得这真实的教训:
  药也会变毒,谁若因爱你而生病。
  
逐一九

我曾喝下了多少鲛人的泪珠
从我心中地狱般的锅里蒸出来,
把恐惧当希望,又把希望当恐惧,
眼看着要成功,成果还是掉败!
我的心犯了多少可怜的弊端,
正好当它自发得再幸福不过;
我的眼睛如何地从眼眶跃出,
当我被疯狂昏乱的热病熬煎!
哦,坏工作功德!我此刻才知道
善的确经常因恶而变得更善!
被摧毁的爱,一旦从头建筑好,
就比本来更宏伟、更美、更强顽。
  是以,我受了训斥,反心对劲足;
  因祸,我获得畴昔的三倍幸福。
  
一二○

你对我狠过心反而于我有益:
想起你那时使我遭到的痛创,
我只好在我的过掉下把头低,
既然我的神经不是铜或精钢。
由于,你若受过我狠心的摇撼,
像我所受的,该熬过量苦的日子!
可是我这暴君从没有抽过闲
来衡量你的罪过对我的冲击!
哦,希望我们那悲怛之夜能使我
牢服膺住真哀思冲击很多惨,
我就会立即递给你,像你递给我,
那安抚碎了的心的微贱药丹。
  但你的罪过此刻变成了包管,
  我赎你的罪,你也赎我的败行。

一二一

宁可卑鄙,也不肯负卑鄙的虚名,
当我们的清白蒙上不白之冤,
当正当的文娱被人妄加恶声,
不体察我们的豪情,只凭成见。
为甚么他人虚假淫猥的眼睛
有权赞美或诽谤我活跃的血?
专侦伺我的弱点而比我坏的人
为甚么把我以为善的尽情歪曲?
我就是我,他们对我的诽谤
只可以或许鼓吹他们本身的卑鄙:
我本刚正,他们的视野自不轨;
这类坏心眼如何配把我非议?
  除非他们刚强这胡涂的邪说:
  恶是人性,统治着世间的是恶。
  
一二二

你赠我的手册已一笔一划
永不磨灭地刻在我的心版上,
它将超出无聊的名位的高低,
跨过一切期间,乃至无穷无疆:
或,最少直到大年夜自然的规律
许可心和脑继续存在的一天;
直到它们把你每部分都让给
遗忘,你的记忆将永久不逸散。
可怜的手册就没法那样持久,
我也不消筹马把你的爱挂号;
所以你的手册我大年夜胆地放走,
把你交给更能收藏你的册子:
  要靠备忘录才不会把你遗忘,
  岂不即是表白我对你也善忘?
  
一二三

不,光阴,你断不克不及夸说我在变:
你新建的金字塔,不管多雄浑,
对我一点不希奇,一点不新奇;
它们只是旧气象披上了新装。
我们的生命太急促,所以恋慕
你拿来蒙骗我们的那些旧货;
胡想它们是我们心愿的产品,
不肯信畴前曾有人谈起过。
对你和你的记载我一样不卖账,
畴昔和此刻都不克不及使我诧异,
由于你的记录和我所见都扯谎,
都多少是你奔驰中造下的孽迹。
  我敢如许发誓:我将万古不渝,
  不管你和你的镰刀多么锋利。
  
一二四

假定我的爱只是权势的明日种,
它就会是命运的无父的私生子,
受光阴的宠辱所磨折和播弄,
同野草闲花一路任人们采刈。
不呀,它实在不是成立在偶然上;
它既不为荣华的笑脸所转移,
也承受得起我们这期间风尚
习觉得常的抑郁、愤激的冲击:
它不恐惧那只在短时候间有效、
处处漫衍异端和邪说的机谋,
不因骄阳而发展,雨也冲不掉落,
它巍然自力在那边,沉思熟筹。
  被光阴愚弄的人们,起来作证!
  你们毕生作恶,却一死得洁净。
  
一二五

这对我何益,纵使我高擎华盖,
用我的外表来为你妆点门面,
或奠下伟大年夜根本,要留芳万代,
实在比萧瑟和毁灭为期更短?
难道我没见过拘守仪表的人,
支出昂扬的代价,却损掉一切,
嫌弃淡泊而拼命去寻求荤辛,
可怜的获利者,在傲视中雕谢?
不,请让我在你心里长保忠贞,
收下这份陋劣但由衷的献礼,
它不掺杂次品,也不包藏机心,
而只是你我间彼此致送诚意。
  被拉拢的告发者,滚蛋!你越诬告
  竭诚的心,越不克不及侵害它分毫。
  
一二六*

你,小乖乖,光阴的无常的沙漏
和时辰(他的小镰刀)都听你摆布;
你在亏缺中发展,并昭示大年夜众
你的爱人若何雕零而你向荣;
若是造化(把握盈亏的大年夜主宰),
在你迈步进步时把你挽回来,
她的目标只是:矫饰她的手法
去丢光阴的脸,并把分秒抹杀。
可是你得怕她,你,她的小乖乖!
她只能暂留,并不是常保,她的宝贝!
她的┞匪目,虽延了期,必须清理:
要清偿债务,她就得把你交还。

一二七

在远古的期间黑实在不算秀俊,
即便算,也没有把美的名挂上;
但此刻黑既成为美的担当人,
因而美便招来了欺侮和离间。
由于自从每只手都润色自然,
用艺术的假面孔去美化丑恶,
温馨的美便掉掉落声价和圣殿,
纵不忍辱偷生,也遭了亵渎。
所以我情妇的头发黑如乌鸦,
眼睛也恰好相衬,就像在哀泣
那些生来不美却迷人的冤家,
用化名声去中伤造化的┞锋誉。
  这哀泣那么共同她们的哀思,
  大年夜家齐声说:这就是美的┞锋容。
  
一二八

多少次,我的音乐,当你在弹奏
音乐,我眼看那些幸福的琴键
随着你那轻巧的手指的挑逗,
发出动听的旋律,使我魂倒神颠--
我多么艳羡那些琴键轻巧地
跳起来狂吻你那和顺的┞菲心,
而我可怜的嘴唇,本该有这权力,
只能红着脸对琴键的猖獗出神!
经不起这引逗,我嘴唇巴不得
做那些舞蹈着的对劲小木片,
由于你手指在它们身上轻掠,
使枯木比活嘴唇更值得艳羡。
  莽撞的琴键既由此获得欢愉,
  请把手指给它们,把嘴唇给我。
  
一二九

把精力耗损在赤诚的戈壁里,
就是色欲在行动;而在行动前,
色欲赌假咒、嗜血、好杀、浑身是
罪过,残暴、粗野、不成靠、走极端;
欢乐还没有央,顿时就感受无味:
绝不讲理地寻求;可是一得手,
又绝不讲理地讨厌,像是专为
引上钩者发疯而设下的钓钩;
在寻求时疯狂,占有时也疯狂;
不管已有、现有、未有,全不放松;
感受时,幸福;感受完,无上灾殃;
事前,盼愿着的欢乐;过后,一场梦。
  这一切人共知;但谁也不知如何
  回避这个引人下地狱的天堂。
  
一三○

我情妇的眼睛一点不像太阳;
珊瑚比她的嘴唇还要红很多:
雪若算白,她的胸就暗褐无光,
发若是铁丝,她头上铁丝婆娑。
我见过红白的玫瑰,轻纱一般;
她颊上却找不到如许的玫瑰;
有很多芳喷鼻很是逗引人喜好,
我情妇的呼吸并没有这喷鼻味。
我爱听她谈话,可是我很清楚
音乐的动听远胜于她的嗓子;
我承认从没有见过女神走路,
我情妇走路时辰却踏结结实:
  可是,我敢指天发誓,我的爱侣
  胜似任何被捧作天仙的美男。
  
一三一

固然你不算美,你的残暴实在不
亚于那些因美而骄横的女人;
由于你知道我的心那么胡涂,
把你当作世上的至美和至珍。
不过,说实话,见过你的人都说,
你的脸贫乏使爱呻吟的魅力:
固然我心中发誓否决这说法,
我可还没有公然否定的勇气。
当然我发的誓一点也不欺人;
数不完的呻吟,一想起你的脸,
顿时连翩而来,可觉得我作证:
对我,你的黑胜于一切秀妍。
  你一点也不黑,除你的人品,
  可能为了这原故,离间才风行。
  
一三二

我爱上了你的眼睛;你的眼睛
知道你的心用不放在眼里把我磨折,
对我的疾苦暗示柔媚的悲悯,
就披上玄色,做旖旎的哭丧者。
而的确,不管天上光辉的朝阳
多么共同那东方惨白的面庞,
或那照耀着傍晚的明星煌煌
(它照破了西方的暗淡的天空),
都不如你的脸配上那双泪眼。
哦,希望你那颗心也一样为我
挂孝吧,既然丧服能使你增妍,
愿它和全身一样与悲悯共同。
  黑是美的本质(我那时就矢语),
  一切贫乏你的色彩的都是丑。
  
一三三

那使我的心呻吟的心该谩骂,
为了它给我和我的伴侣的伤痕!
难道光是熬煎我一个还不敷?
还要把伴侣贬为奴隶的成分?
你刻毒的眼睛已夺走我本身,
那另外一个我你又无情地吞并:
我已被他(我本身)和你丢弃;
这使我蒙受三三九倍的患难。
请用你的死心把我的心包围,
让我可怜的心保释伴侣的心;
不管谁监视我,我都把他保卫;
你就不克不及在狱中再对我发狠。
  你还会发狠的,我是你的囚徒,
  我和我的一切必定任你摆布。
  
一三四

是以,此刻我既承认他属于你,
并照你的意旨把我当抵押品,
我甘心让你把我充公,好教你
开释另外一个我来快慰我的心:
但你不肯放,他又不肯被开释,
由于你得寸进尺,贰心肠又软;
他作为保人签字在那证券上,
为了摆脱我,反而把本身紧拴。
分绝不放过的印子钱者,你将要
行使你的斑斓赐给你的特权
去控告那为我而负债的厚交;
因而我掉去他,由于把他棍骗。
  我把他掉掉落;你却占有他和我:
  他还清清偿,我仍然不得摆脱。
  
一三五*

假定女人有满足,你就得如"愿",
还有额外的心愿,多到数不清;
而多余的我总是要把你纠缠,
想在你心愿的花上添我的锦。
你的心愿汪洋无边,难道不克不及
容我把我的心愿在里面隐埋?
难道他人的心愿都那么可亲,
而我的心愿就不配你的青睐?
大年夜海,满尽是水,照样承受雨点,
好把它的蕴藏品大年夜量地增加;
多心愿的你,就该把我的心愿
添上,使你的心愿获得更扩大年夜。
  别让无情的"不"把求爱者梗塞;
  让众愿同一愿,而我就在这愿里。
  
一三六

你的魂灵若骂你我走得太近,
请对你那瞎魂灵说我是你"心愿",
而"心愿",她知道,对她并不是陌生;
为了爱,让我的爱如愿吧,心肝。
心愿将充塞你的爱情的宝藏,
请专心愿布满它,把我算一个,
须知道宏大年夜的容器很是便当,
多装或少装一个算不了甚么。
请许可我混在队伍中间进去,
不管如何说我总是此中之一;
把我看作微末不足道,但必须
把这微末看作你心爱的器材。
  把我名字当你的爱,持之以恒,
  就是爱我,由于"心愿"是我的名字。
  
一三七

又瞎又蠢的爱,你对我的眼珠
干了甚么,乃至它们漠然置之?
它们认得美,也看见美在那边,
却竟然错把那极恶当作至善。
我的眼睛若受了成见的歪扭,
在那人人行驶的海湾里下锚,
你为何把它们的虚妄作成钩,
把我的心的判定力钩得牢牢?
难道是我的心,明知那是公地,
硬把它当作私人游乐的花圃?
还是我眼睛否定较着的事实,
硬拿斑斓的┞锋蒙住丑恶的脸?
  我的心和眼既迷掉了真标的目标,
  自然不克不及不堕入虚妄的膏肓。
  
一三八

我爱人矢语说她浑身是忠厚,
我相信她(固然明知她在扯谎),
让她以为我是个蒙昧的孩子,
不知道世间各种哄人的勾当。
因而我就妄图她当我还年轻,
固然明知我盛年已一去不复返;
她的油嘴滑舌我天真地信赖:
如许,朴素的┞锋话两边都隐瞒。
可是为甚么她不承认扯谎话?
为甚么我又不承认我已朽迈?
爱的习惯是连信赖同样成讹诈,
老年谈爱情最怕把年龄提到。
  是以,我既棍骗她,她也棍骗我,
  咱俩的爱情就在棍骗中作乐。
  
一三九

哦,别叫我谅解你的残暴不仁
对我的心的不公道的冲犯;
请用舌头危险我,可别用眼睛;
狠狠冲击我,杀我,可别耍手段。
说你已爱上了他人;但当我面,
心肝,可别把眼睛向旁边观望:
何需要耍手段,既然你的强权
已够打倒我过度严重的抵当?
让我替你辩白说:"我爱人明知
她那明媚的流盼是我的死仇,
才把我的仇敌从我脸上转移,
让它向别处放射害人的毒镞!"
  可别如许;我已一息奄奄,
  不如一下盯死我,消弭患难。
  
一四○

你狠心,也该放聪明;别让侮蔑
把我不出声的忍耐逼得太过;
免得哀思赐我喉舌,让你领略
我的可怜的疾苦会如何发狠。
你若学了乖,爱呵,就感觉理应
对我说你爱我,纵使你不如此;
仿佛急躁的病人,当死期已近,
只愿听大夫陈述健康的消息;
由于我若是掉望,我就会发疯,
疯狂中难保不把你胡乱谩骂:
这乖张世界是那么有掉体统,
疯狂的耳总爱听疯子的坏话。
  要我不发疯,而你不蒙受离间,
  你得把眼睛重视,固然心猖獗放任。

一四一

说实话,我的眼睛实在不喜好你,
它们发见你身上百孔和千疮;
但眼睛瞧不起的,心儿却沉迷,
它一味宠嬖,不管眼睛如何想。
我耳朵也不感觉你嗓音好听,
就是我那轻易受刺激的触觉,
或味觉,或嗅觉都不见得欢畅
插手你身上任何官能的盛酌。
可是不管我五种机灵或五官
都不克不及劝阻痴心去把你侍奉,
我昂藏的┞飞夫仪表它再不管,
只甘心作你傲慢的心的奴才。
  不过我的灾难也非全无好处:
  她勾引我犯法,也教会我刻苦。
  
一四二

我的罪咎是爱,你的美德是憎,
你憎我的罪,为了我多咎的爱:
哦,你只要比一比你我的实情,
就会发觉责备我多么不该该。
就算应当,也不克不及出自你嘴唇,
由于它们亵渎过本身的口红,
劫夺过他人床弟应得的租金,
和我一样多次偷订爱的假盟。
我爱你,你爱他们,都一样正当,
固然你寻求他们而我讨你厌。
让哀怜的种子在你心里暗长,
终有天你的哀怜也得人哀怜。
  假定你只知寻求,本身却鄙吝,
  你本身的表率就会招往返绝。
  
一四三

看呀,像一个谨慎翼翼的妇女
跑着去追撵一只逃脱的母鸡,
把孩子扔下,拼命快跑,要捉住
阿谁她急着要得回来的器材;
被扔下的孩子紧跟在她后头,
哭哭啼啼要遇上她,而她尽管
望前一向追撵,一步也不断留,
掉落臂她那可怜的小孩的不满:
一样,你追阿谁回避你的家伙,
而我(你的孩子)却在后头追你;
你若遇上了希望,请回头赐顾帮衬我,
尽妈妈的天职,轻轻吻我,很和蔼。
  只要你回头来安抚我的哀号,
  我就会祷告神让你从心所欲。
  
一四四

两个爱人像精灵般把我诱惑,
一个叫安抚,别的一个叫掉望:
善的天使是个男人,风韵绰约;
恶的鬼魂是个女人,其貌不扬。
为了促使我早进地狱,那女鬼
勾引我的善精灵硬把我抛开,
还要把他利诱,使沉溺堕落为妖魅,
用肮脏的高傲寻求纯粹的爱。
我的天使是不是已变成了恶魔,
我没法一会儿肯定,只能猜忌;
但两个都把我扔下,彼此连系,
一个想必进了另外一个的地狱。
  可是这一点我永久没法猜透,
  除非是恶的天使把善的撵走。
  
一四五

爱神亲手捏就的嘴唇
对着为她而蕉萃的我,
吐出了这声音说,"我恨":
可是她一看见我难熬,
心里就顿时大年夜发慈悲,
责备那一贯都是用来
颁布发表甜蜜的判词的嘴,
教它要把口气悔改来:
"我恨",她又把尾巴补缀,
那的确像开阔开朗的白日
赶走了魔鬼似的黑夜,
把它从天堂甩进阴间。
  她把"我恨"的恨字摒弃,
  救了我的命说,"不是你"。
  
一四六

可怜的魂灵,万恶身躯的中间,
被围攻你的背叛权势所俘掳,
为安在暗中蕉萃,忍耐着饥荒,
却把外壁妆得那么堂皇丽都?
赁期那么短,这倾颓中的大年夜厦
难道还值得你如许浪费华侈?
是不是要让蛆虫来担当这豪华,
把它吃光?这可是肉体的依皈?
所以,魂灵,请拿你家丁来度日,
让他瘦削,以便充分你的蕴藏,
拿无用时候来兑换永欠租期,
让心里得滋养,别管外表堂皇:
  如许,你将吃掉落那吃人的死神,
  而死神一死,世上就永无死人。
  
一四七

我的爱是一种热病,它老切盼
那可以或许使它持久保养的单方,
服食一种能保持病状的药散,
使多变的病态食欲悠长盛旺。
理性(那医治我的爱情的大夫)
生气我不遵循他给我的叮嘱,
把我扔下,使我掉望,由于不信
医药的欲望,我知道,是条死路。
我再无生望,既然损掉了理智,
成天都惶惑不安、烦躁、疯狂;
不管思想或谈话,全像个疯子,
离开了真实,无目标,混乱无章;
  由于我曾矢语说你美,说你璀璨,
  你倒是地狱一般黑,夜一般暗。
  
一四八

唉,爱把甚么眼睛装在我脑里,
使我完全认不清真实的气象?
竟错判了眼睛所见到的┞锋相?
若是我眼睛所沉沦的┞锋是美,
为何大年夜家都如出一口不承认?
若真不美呢,那就绝对无可讳,
爱情的眼睛不如凡人看得真:
当然喽,它怎可以或许,爱眼怎可以或许
看得真呢,它昼夜都泪水汪汪?
那么,我看不准又怎算得罕见?
太阳也要等晴和才照得敞亮。
  奸刁的爱神!你用泪把我弄瞎,
  只因怕明眼把你的丑恶揭露。
  
一四九

你怎能,哦,狠心的,否定我爱你,
当我和你协力把我本身讨厌?
我不是在驰念你,当我为了你
完全忘掉落我本身,哦,我的暴主?
我可曾把那恨你的人当伴侣?
我可曾对你讨厌的人献周到?
不但如许,你对我一皱起眉头,
我不是顿时感喟,把本身悔恨?
我还有甚么可以高傲的优点,
傲慢到不屑于为你服役奔命,
既然我的美都崇拜你的缺点,
唯你的眼波的流徒转移是听?
  但,爱呵,固然憎吧,我已猜透你:
  你爱那些明眼的,而我是瞎子。
  

一五○

哦,从甚么威力你获得这气力,
连缺点也能把我的心灵安排?
教我诽谤我靠得住的目光扯谎,
并矢口否定太阳使白日明媚?
何来这化臭腐为奇异的本领,
使你的各种丑恶不堪的表示
都具有一种矫捷强劲的包管,
使它们,对我,超出一切至善?
谁教你有编制使我加倍爱你,
当我听到和见到你各种可憎?
哦,固然我锺爱着人家所嫌弃,
你总不该嫌弃我,同人家一条心:
  既然你越不成爱,越使得我爱,
  你就该感觉我更值得你爱好。
  
一五一

爱神太年轻,不知道知己是甚么;
但谁不知道知己是爱情所产?
那么,好骗子,就别专找我的错,
免得我的罪把温婉的你也连累。
由于,你出卖了我,我的笨肉体
又哄我出卖我更崇高的部分;
我魂灵叮咛我肉体,说它可以
在爱情上成功;肉体再不出声,
一闻声你的名字就顿时指出
你是它的成功品;它自得忘形,
死心蹋地作你最鄙贱的家奴,
任你颐指气使,或倒在你身边。
  所以我可问心无愧地称号她
  做"爱",我为她的爱起来又倒下。
  
一五二

你知道我对你的爱实在不成靠,
但你矢语爱我,这话更靠不住;
你撕掉落床头盟,又把新约毁掉落,
既结了新欢,又种下新的仇恨。
但我为甚么责备你两番背盟,
本身却背了二十次!最几次是我;
我对你一切盟誓都只是滥用,
因此对你已掉尽了信约。
我曾矢口作证你对我的深爱:
说你多强烈热烈、多虔诚、永不变卦,
我使眼睛掉明,好让你显光华,
教眼睛发誓,把眼远景说成子虚--
  我发誓说你美!还有比这荒唐:
  勾消真谛去对峙那么黑的谎!
  
一五三

爱神放下他的火把,沉沉睡去:
月神的一个仙女乘了这机缘
从速把那枝煽动爱火的火把
浸入山间一道冷冰冰的泉水;
泉水,既从这神圣的火把得来
一股不灭的热,就永久在燃烧,
变成了沸腾的泉,一向到此刻
还证实具有起死复生的功能。
但这火把又在我情妇眼里燃烧,
为了实验,爱神碰一下我胸口,
我顿时不愉快,又急躁又难熬,
一刻不断地跑向温泉去求救,
  但全不生效:能治好我的温泉
  只有新燃起爱火的、我恋人的眼。
  
一五四

小小爱神有一次呼呼地睡着,
把点燃心焰的火把放在一边,
一群蹁跹的┞逢洁的仙女刚巧
走过;此中最美的一个天仙
用她童贞的手把那曾烧红
万千颗赤忱的火把偷偷拿走,
因而这玩火小法师在酣睡中
便缴械给那贞女的纤纤素手。
她把火把往四周冷泉里一浸,
泉水被爱神的烈火烧得沸腾,
变成了温泉,能消弭人世百病;
但我呵,被我情妇播弄得头疼,
  跑去温泉救治,才把这点弄清:
  爱烧热泉水,泉水冷不了爱情。

注释
1. 诗神:即诗人,故下面用男性代词"他"字。
2. 那时制造假发的人经常买死人的头爆发原料。
3. 土星在西欧星相学里是烦闷和愁闷的意味。
4. 烙印:赤诚。
5. 那时相信醋能防疫。

(梁宗岱 译)





中國詩歌庫 中華詩庫 中國詩典 中國詩人 中國詩壇 首頁

xxfseo.com