莎士比亚 (William Shakespeare)

Sonnets (1-154) 十四行诗集 (悉数154首) 


Sonnets (1-154) 十四行诗集 (悉数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

对天然生成的尤物咱们要求蕃盛,
以便美的玫瑰永久不会枯死,
但开透的花朵既要及时雕零,
就应把回忆交给柔嫩的后裔;
但你,只和你自己的明眸定情,
把自己当燃料喂食眼中的火焰,
和自己刁难,待自己不免太狠,
把一片丰沃的土地变成荒田。
你现在是大地的新鲜的装点,
又是秀美阳春的仅有的前锋,
为什么把富源葬送在嫩蕊里,
温顺的鄙夫,要小气,反而浪用?
  不幸这个国际吧,要否则,贪夫,
  就吞噬国际的份,由你和坟墓。
  
二

当四十个冬季攻击你的朱颜,
在你美的园地挖下深的壕沟,
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,
哪里是你那少壮年月的瑰宝,
你说,"在我这双深陷的眼眶里,
是贪婪的羞耻,和无益的表彰。"
你的美的用处会更值得赞许,
假设你能够说,"我这宁馨小童
将总结我的账,宽恕我的老迈,"
证明他的美在承继你的血缘!
  这将使你在变老的晚年更生,
  并使你垂冷的血液感到重温。

三

照照镜子,告知你那镜中的脸庞,
说现在这庞儿应该另造一副;
假设你不从速为它重修殿堂,
就诈骗国际,剥掉母亲的美好。
由于哪里会有女性那么淑贞
她那童贞的胎不肯被你耕种?
哪里有男人那么蠢,他竟甘心
做自己的坟墓,绝自己的血缘?
你是你母亲的镜子,在你里边
她唤回她的盛年的芳香四月:
相同,从你晚年的窗你将眺见--
纵皱纹满脸--你这黄金的年月。
  但是你活着若不肯被人牵挂,
  就单独死去,你的肖像和你一同。

四

漂亮的浪子,为什么把你那份
美的遗产在你自己身上耗尽?
造化的奉送非赐予,她只出赁;
她大方,只赁给斤斤计较的人。
那么,美丽的鄙夫,为什么乱用
那交给你转交给他人的厚礼?
亏本的高利贷者,为什么浪用
那么一笔大款,还不能过日子?
由于你已然只和自己做买卖,
就等于诈骗你那妩媚的自我。
这样,你将拿什么账目去告知,
当造化唤你回到她怀里长卧?
  你未用过的美将同你进坟墓;
  用呢,就活着去履行你的遗言。
  
五

那些时辰早年用轻盈的细工
织就这众目共注的心爱明眸,
终有天对它摆出魔王的面孔,
把绝代佳丽剁成龙锺的老丑:
由于不舍昼夜的韶光把盛夏
带到狰狞的冬季去把它成果;
生机被严霜窒息,绿叶又全下,
白雪掩埋了美,满目是光秃秃:
那时分假设夏天尚未经提炼,
让它凝成香露锁在玻璃瓶里,
美和美的流泽将一同被切断,
美,和美的回忆都无人再提起:
  但提炼过的花,纵和冬季抗衡,
  只失掉色彩,却永久吐着清芬。
  
六

那么,别让冬季嶙峋的手抹掉
你的夏天,在你未经提炼之前:
熏香一些瓶子;把你美的财宝
藏在宝库里,趁它还未及散失。
这样的假贷并不是违禁取利,
已然它使那愿意纳息的快乐;
这是说你该为你另生一个你,
或许,一个生十,就十倍地走运;
十倍你自己比你现在更快乐,
假设你有十个儿子来重现你:
这样,即便你长辞,死将奈你何,
已然你持续活在你的后裔里?
  别顽固:你那么美丽,何须甘心
  做死的成功品,让蛆虫做后代。
  
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
都对他初升的现象标明敬仰,
用目光来等候他崇高的驾临;
然后他既登上了天穹的极峰,
像精力丰满的壮年,雄姿英发,
万民的眼睛仍旧崇拜他的峥嵘,
紧紧追跟着他那疾驰的金驾。
但当他,像耄年拖着尘倦的车轮,
从绝顶颤巍巍地脱离了白日,
众目便一齐从他下沉的足印
移开它们那本来恭顺的视界。
  相同,你的绚烂的日中一消逝,
  你就会悄然死去,假设没后裔。
  
八

我的音乐,为何听音乐会生悲?
甜美不相克,快乐使快乐欢笑。
为何爱那你不快乐爱的东西,
或许为何乐于接受你的烦恼?
假设动听的声响的完美调和
和亲挚的和谐会惹起你烦忧,
它们不过含蓄地责怪你不应
用独奏窒息你心中那部独奏。
试看这一根弦,另一根的夫君,
怎样融洽地相互呼应和振动;
宛如父亲、儿子和快活的母亲,
它们联成了一片,齐声在欢唱。
  它们的无言之歌都殊途同归
  对你唱着:"你单身就悉数皆空。"
  
九

是否由于怕打湿你寡妇的眼,
你在单身日子里消磨你自己?
哦,假设你不幸无后脱离人世,
国际就要哀哭你,像丧偶的妻。
国际将是你寡妇,她永久悲伤
你生前没给她留下你的容貌;
其他的寡妇,靠儿女们的眼睛,
反能把夫君的肖像在心里长保。
看吧,浪子在世上的种种糟蹋
只换了主人,国际仍然在享用;
但美的耗费在人世将有终尾:
藏着不必,就等于任由它迂腐。
  这样的心决不会对他人有爱,
  已然它那么决然把自己戕害。
  
一○

羞呀,否定你并非不爱任何人,
对待你自己却那么短缺绸缪。
供认,随你便,许多人对你钟情,
但说你并不爱谁,谁也要允许。
由于怨毒的杀机那么缠住你,
你不吝多方规划把自己戕害,
决心糟蹋你那座峥嵘的殿宇,
你仅有想法却该是把它重盖。
哦,从速回心吧,让我也好转意!
莫非憎比温婉的爱反得处优?
你那么貌美,愿你也相同心慈,
否则至少对你自己也要温顺。
  另造一个你吧,你若是真爱我,
  让美在你儿子或你身上永活。
  
逐个

和你相同快地低沉,你的儿子,
也将相同快在国际成长起来;
你灌注给芳华的这新鲜血液
仍将是你的,当芳华把你抛开。
这儿边活着才智、美丽和兴盛;
没有这,便是愚笨、变老和迂腐:
人人都这样想,就要钟停漏尽,
六十年便足使国际荡然无存。
让那些人生来不配生育传宗,
粗鲁、丑陋和蠢笨,无后地死去;
造化的至宠,她的奉送也最丰,
该尽量珍惜她这大方的赐予:
  她把你刻做她的印,意思是要
  你多印几份,并非要销毁原稿。
  
一二

当我数着壁上报时的自鸣钟,
见明丽的白日坠入狰狞的夜,
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,
它不久前曾隐蔽喘息的牛羊;
夏天的翠绿一束一束地就缚,
带着坚硬的白须被舁上殓床;
所以我不由为你的朱颜焦虑:
终有天你要参与韶光的废堆,
已然美和芳香都把自己扔掉,
眼看着他人成长自己却干枯;
  没什么抵御得住韶光的棘手,
  除了生育,当他来要把你拘走。
  
一三

哦,期望你是你自己,但爱呀,你
终非你有,当你不再活在世上:
对这将临的日子你得要预备,
快交给他人你那俊美的肖像。
这样,你所租借的朱颜就永久
不会有满期;所以你又将变成
你自己,当你现已脱离了人世,
已然你儿子保藏着你的倩影。
谁肯让一座这样的华厦倾颓,
假设当心肠看守便能够保护
它的荣耀,去反抗寒冬的狂吹
和那冷漠的死神无情的暴怒?
  哦,除非是浪子;我爱呀,你知道
  你有父亲;让你儿子也可骄傲。
  
一四

并非从星斗我收集我的揣度;
但是我认为我也通晓占星学,
但并非为了计算气运的通蹇,
以及饥馑、瘟疫或四时的风色;
我也不能为短暂的时辰算命,
指出每个时辰的雷电和风雨,
或为国王占卜流年是否亨顺,
根据我常从上苍探得的天机。
我的法术只得自你那双明眸,
稳定的双星,它们征兆这吉祥:
只需你心回意转肯储蓄传后,
真和美将双双偕你永世其昌。
  要否则关于你我将这样昭示:
  你的末日也便是真和美的死。
  
一五

当我默察悉数生动泼的生机
坚持它们的芳香都不过一瞬,
国际的舞台只搬弄一些花招
被上苍的星宿在冥冥中牵引;
当我发觉人和草木相同蕃衍,
任同一的天把他鼓舞和阻遏,
少壮时蒸蒸日上,盛极又必反,
富贵和绚烂都被从回忆抹掉;
所以这悉数奄忽浮生的征候
便把妙龄的你在我眼前呈列,
目睹严酷的韶光与迂腐共谋,
要把你芳华的白日化作黑夜;
  为了你的爱我将和韶光争持:
  他摧折你,我要把你从头接枝。
  
一六

但是为什么不必更凶的法子
去反抗这血淋淋的魔王--韶光?
不必比我的枯笔吉祥的兵器,
去防护你的衰朽,把自己加强?
你现在站在黄金时辰的绝顶,
许多少女的花园,还未经耕种,
贞洁地切盼你那绚烂的群英,
比你的画像更酷肖你的真容:
只需生命的线能把生命重描;
韶光的画笔,或许我这枝弱管,
不论心里的美或表面的姣好,
都不能使你在人们眼前活现。
  献出你自己仍然保有你自己,
  而你得活着,靠你自己的妙笔。
  
一七

未来的年代谁会信赖我的诗,
假设它充溢了你最高的美德?
虽然,天知道,它仅仅一座墓地
埋着你的生命和一半的本性。
假设我写得出你美意图流盼,
用新鲜的韵律细数你的秀妍,
未来的年代会说:"这诗人说谎:
这样的天姿哪里会落在人世!"
所以我的诗册,被年月所熏黄,
就要被人轻视,像饶舌的老头;
你的真容被诬作诗人的张狂,
以及一支古歌的夸大的节奏:
  但那时你若有个儿子在人世,
  你就活两次:在他身上,在诗里。
  
一八

我怎样能够把你来比作夏天?
你不独比它心爱也比它温婉:
暴风把五月宠爱的嫩蕊作践,
夏天出赁的期限又不免太短:
天上的眼睛有时照得太酷烈,
它那炳耀的金颜又常遭掩蔽:
被机缘或无常的天道所摧折,
没有芳艳不总算雕残或销毁。
但是你的长夏永久不会雕落,
也不会丢失你这皎白的红芳,
或死神夸口你在他影里漂泊,
当你在永存的诗里与时同长。
  只需一天有人类,或人有眼睛,
  这诗将长存,并且赐给你生命。
  
一九

贪吃的韶光,去磨钝雄狮的爪,
命大地吞噬自己宠爱的幼婴,
去猛虎的颚下把它利牙拔掉,
焚毁长命的凤凰,灭绝它的种,
使时节在你飞逝时或悲或喜;
并且,捷足的韶光,尽任意地糟蹋
这大千国际和它易谢的芳香;
只需这极恶大罪我制止你犯:
哦,别把年月刻在我爱的额上,
或用陈旧的铁笔乱画下皱纹:
在你的飞逝里不要把它弄脏,
好留给后世永作美丽的典型。
  但,虽然猖獗,老韶光,凭你多狠,
  我的爱在我诗里将万古长存。
  
二○

你有副女性的脸,由造化亲手
塑就,你,我酷爱的情妇兼情郎;
有颗女性的温婉的心,但没有
重复和变幻,像女性的假心肠;
眼睛比她明丽,又不那么做作,
流盼把悉数事物都镀上黄金;
绝世的美色,驾御着悉数美色,
既使男人晕眩,又使女性震动。
开始原是把你当女性来发明:
但造化刻画你时,不觉着了迷,
误加给你一件东西,这就剥掉
我的权力--这东西对我毫无意义。
  但造化造你既专为女性愉快,
  让我占有,而她们享用,你的爱。

二一

我的诗神①并不像那一位诗神
只知运用脂粉涂改他的诗句,
连天穹也要搬下来作妆饰品,
罗列每个佳丽去赞他的佳丽,
用种种虚浮的比如作成对偶,
把他比太阳、月亮、海陆的瑰宝,
四月的鲜花,和这浩荡的国际
蕴藏在它的怀里的悉数美好。
哦,让我既诚心爱,就诚心歌唱,
并且,信赖我,我的爱能够比美
任何母亲的儿子,虽然论亮堂
比不上挂在天空的金色烛台。
  谁喜欢废话,让他尽说个不穷;
  我志不在出售,自用不着祷颂。
  
二二

这镜子决不能使我信赖我老,
只需大好年光岁月和你仍是同年;
但当你脸上呈现韶光的深槽,
我就盼死神来了断我的天算。
由于那悉数妆点着你的美丽
都不过是我心里的表面荣耀;
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,请千万自己保重,
像我保重自己,乃为你,非为我。
怀抱着你的心,我将那么慎重,
像慈母防护着婴儿遭受病魔。
  别走运独存,假设我的心先碎;
  你把心交我,并非为把它回收。
  
二三

如同舞台上初度扮演的戏子
慌张中竟遗忘了自己的人物,
又像被得罪的野兽满腔肝火,
它那过猛的力气反使它惧怕;
相同,短少着镇定,我不觉遗忘
举办爱情的仪节的彬彬盛典,
被我爱情的过度重量所压倒,
在我自己的酷爱中一息奄奄。
哦,请让我的诗歌做我的辩士,
替我把羁绊的衷曲静静倾诉,
它为爱情申述,并企求着恩赐,
多于那对你絮絮不休的狡舌:
  请学会去读沉默沉静的爱的情书,
  用眼睛来听原归于爱的妙术。
  
二四

我眼睛扮作画家,把你的肖像
描画在我的心版上,我的肉体
便是那嵌着你的姣颜的镜框,
而画家的无上的法宝是透视。
你要透过画家的奇妙去发见
那保藏你的奕奕真容的当地;
它长挂在我胸内的画室中心,
你的眼睛却是画室的玻璃窗。
试看眼睛多么会帮眼睛的忙:
我的眼睛画你的像,你的却是
开向我胸中的窗,从那里太阳
喜欢去偷看那藏在里边的你。
  但是眼睛的艺术终欠这高超:
  它只能画表面,却不知道心里。
  
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,命运回绝我这种荣耀,
只私自单独赏玩我心里所欢。
王公的宠臣舒展他们的金叶
不过像太阳眷顾下的金盏花,
他们的骄傲在自己身上消除,
一蹙额便足雕谢他们的荣华。
转战疆场的名将不论多功高,
攻无不克后只需有一次失手,
便从功名册上被人一笔勾消,
一生的勋劳只落得无声无臭:
  那么,爱人又被爱,我多么美好!
  我既不会迁徙,又不怕被驱赶。
  
二六

我爱情的至尊,你的美德现已
使我这藩属加强对你的拥护,
我现在寄给你这诗当作青鸟使,
去向你述职,并非要向你炫才。
责任那么重,我又才拙少俊语,
不免要显得光秃秃和她相见,
但望你的妙思,不嫌它太粗鄙,
在你魂灵里把它的光秃秃讳饰;
因此不论什么星照引我出息,
都对我显露一副和悦的笑脸,
把华服加给我这寒伧的爱情,
使我配得上你那缠绵的恩宠。
  那时我才敢对你夸耀我的爱,
  否则怕你检测我,总要躲起来。
  
二七

筋疲力尽,我从速到床上躺下,
去歇息我那整天劳顿的四肢;
但立刻我的脑筋又整装动身,
以劳我的心,当我身已得歇息。
由于我的思维,不辞离乡背井,
忠实地趱程要到你那里进香,
睁大我这双沉沉欲睡的眼睛,
向着瞎子看得见的漆黑凝睇;
不过我的魂灵,凭着它的幻眼,
把你的倩影献给我失明的双眸,
像颗明珠在阴沉的夜里高悬,
变老丑的黑夜为明丽的白日。
  这样,日里我的腿,夜里我的心,
  为你、为我自己,都得不着安定。
  
二八

那么,我怎样能够喜洋洋归来,
已然得不着顷刻身心的安眠?
当白日的压逼天黑并不稍衰,
仅仅夜继日、日又继夜地压逼?
日和夜平常虽事事各不相下,
却相互携手来把我轮番波折,
一个用行进,一个却呶呶怒骂,
说我脱离你更远,虽整天行进。
为巴结白日,我告它你是光亮,
在阴云密布时你将把它照射。
我又这样说去讨黑夜的欢心:
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,
暗暗地哀悼自己的身世漂荡,
徒用呼吁去搅扰聋?的昊天,
回视着身影,诅咒自己的生辰,
愿我和另一个相同富于期望,
相貌类似,又和他相同广交游,
企求这人的广博,那人的熟行,
最赏心的乐事觉得最不仇敌;
但是,当我正要这样看轻自己,
遽然想起了你,所以我的精力,
便像云雀拂晓从阴霾的大地
振翮上升,高唱着圣歌在天门:
  一想起你的爱使我那么赋有,
  和帝王换位我也不屑于屈就。
  
三○

当我传唤对已往事物的回忆
出庭于那馨香的默想的公堂,
我不由为射中许多缺点叹息,
带着宿恨,从头哭蹉跎的韶光;
所以我能够吞没那枯涸的眼,
为了那些长埋在夜台的亲友,
哀悼着许多音容俱渺的美艳,
痛哭那情爱久已勾消的哀痛:
所以我为曩昔的惆怅而惆怅,
并且逐个细算,从苦楚到苦楚,
那许多啜泣过的啜泣的旧账,
如同还未付过,现在又来偿付。
  但是只需那刻我想起你,挚友,
  丢失全回收,沉痛也荡然无存。
  
三一

你的胸襟有了那些心而越可亲
(它们的消逝我只道现已死去);
本来爱,和爱的悉数心爱部分,
和埋掉的友谊都在你怀里藏住。
多少为哀思而流的纯真泪珠
那忠实的爱曾从我眼睛盗取
去祭拜死者!我现在才茅塞顿开
他们只脱离我去住在你的心里。
你是座保藏已往恩惠的芳?V,
满挂着死去的情人的纪念牌,
他们把我的奉送尽向你呈贡,
你单独享用许多人应得的爱。
  在你身上我瞥见他们的倩影,
  而你,他们的总和,尽有我的心。
  
三二

倘你活过我得意忘形的大限,
当鄙夫"死神"用黄土把我掩埋,
偶尔重翻这低劣不幸的诗卷,
你情人生前写来献给你的爱,
把它和今世飘逸的新诗比较,
发觉它的词笔处处都不如人,
请保存它专为我的爱,而不是
为那被走运的天才赶过的韵。
哦,那时分就请赐给我这爱思:
"要是我朋友的诗神与时同长,
他的爱就会带来更美的产儿,
可和这世纪任何发明同俯仰:
  但他既死去,诗人们又都跨进,
  我读他们的文采,却读他的心。"
  
三三

多少次我曾看见绚烂的向阳
用他那至尊的眼媚悦着山顶,
金色的脸庞吻着青碧的牧场,
把暗淡的溪流镀成一片黄金:
然后猛然任那最低微的云彩
带着黑影驰过他崇高的霁颜,
把他从这苍凉的国际藏起来,
偷移向西方去掩埋他的污点;
相同,我的太阳曾在一个清朝
带着光芒的光华临照我前额;
但是唉!他只一刻是我的荣耀,
下界的乌云已把他和我遮隔。
  我的爱却并不因此把他鄙贱,
  天上的太阳有瑕疵,况且人世!
  
三四

为什么预告那么绚烂的日子,
哄我不带着大衣便出来游行,
让鄙贱的乌云半途把我侵袭,
用臭腐的烟雾遮盖你的光亮?
你认为现在打破乌云来晾干
我脸上淋漓的雨点便已满意?
须知无人会赞许这样的药丹:
只能治疗创伤,但洗不了羞耻。
你的愧赧也无补于我的疼爱;
你虽已悔过,我仍然不免丢失:
关于背着羞耻的十字架的人,
得罪者引咎仅仅弱小的安慰。
  唉,但你的爱所流的泪是明珠,
  它们的绮丽够赎你的罪有余。
  
三五

别再为你得罪我的行为苦楚:
玫瑰花有刺,银色的泉有烂泥,
乌云和蚀把太阳和月亮玷污,
憎恨的毛虫把香的嫩蕊盘据。
每个人都有错,我就犯了这点:
运用种种比如来说明你的恶,
弄脏我自己来洗刷你的罪愆,
赦宥你那无可赦宥的大错失。
由于对你的败行我加以体谅--
你的原告变成了你的辩解士--
我对你申述,反而把自己出卖:
爱和憎老在我心中相互架空,
  致使我不得不变成你的帮手
  去帮你劫掠我,你,温顺的小偷!
  
三六

让我供认咱们俩一定要分别,
虽然咱们那分不开的爱是一体:
这样,许多留在我身上的瑕疵,
将不必你分管,由我单独承起。
你我的相爱全出于一片至诚,
虽然不同的日子把咱们离隔,
这纵然改动不了爱情的真纯,
却偷掉许多密约佳期的愉快。
我再也不会大声认你做至交,
生怕我可哀的罪过使你含垢,
你也不能再当众把我来赞许,
除非你甘心使你的姓名蒙羞。
  可别这样做;我已然这样爱你,
  你是我的,我的荣光也归于你。
  
三七

像一个变老的父亲快乐去看
生动的儿子扮演芳华的方法,
相同,我,受了命运的狠毒糟蹋,
从你的精诚和美德找到力气。
由于,不论美、家世、财富或才调,
或这悉数,或其一,或多于这悉数,
在你身上空前绝后,我都把
我的爱在你这个瑰宝上嫁接。
那么,我并不残废、赤贫、被轻藐,
已然这种种幻影都那么充分,
使我从你的殷实得满意,并依靠
你的荣耀的一部分安定度日。
  看,生命的至宝,我暗祝你尽有:
  既有这愿望,我便十倍地无忧。
  
三八

我的诗神怎样会找不到诗料,
当你还呼吸着,灌注给我的诗哦,
感谢你自己吧,假设我诗中
有值得一读的献给你的目光:
哪里有哑巴,写到你,不善祷颂--
已然是你自己照亮他的梦想?
做第十位艺神吧,你要比凡夫
所请求的古代九位高超得多;
有谁向你呼吁,就让他献出
一些能够传长远的永存诗歌。
  我低微的诗神如可取悦于世,
  苦楚归于我,悉数赞许全归你。
  


三九

哦,我怎能不越礼地把你讴歌,
当我的最美丽部分全归于你?
赞许我自己对我自己有何用?
赞许你岂不等于赞许我自己?
便是为这点咱们也得要分手,
使咱们的爱名义上各自独处,
以便我能够,在这样分别之后,
把你该独得的赞许悉数献出。
分别呵!你会给我多大的痛创,
假使你苦楚的空闲不同意我
拿出甜美的情思来招待韶光,
用甜言把韶光和牵挂蒙混过--
  假设你不教我怎样化一为二,
  使我在这儿赞许远方的人儿!
  
四○

夺掉我的爱,爱呵,请统统夺去;
看看比你已有的能多些什么?
没什么,爱呵,称得上真情实义;
我所爱早属你,纵使不添这个。
那么,你为爱我而接受我所爱,
我不能对你这享用加以责怪;
但得受责怪,若甘心自我欺绐,
你成心贪尝不肯接受的东西。
我能够宽恕你的掠夺,温顺贼,
虽然你把我仅有的统统偷走;
但是,忍受爱情的暗算,爱知道,
比憎恨的明伤是更大的烦忧。
  风流的妩媚,连你的恶也妩媚,
  虽然毒杀我,咱们可别相敌视。

四一

你那放浪形骸所犯的风流罪
(当我有时分远远脱离你的心)
与你的美貌和芳华那么般配,
不论到哪里,诱惑都把你寻找。
你那么温文,谁不想把你攫取?
那么姣好,又怎样不被人攻击?
而当女性寻求,凡女性的儿子
谁能坚苦挣扎,不向她怀里送?
唉!但你总不必把我的位儿占,
并呵斥你的美丽和芳华的利诱:
它们引你去犯那么大的狂乱,
使你不得不撕毁了两重誓约:
  她的,由于你的美诱她去就你;
  你的,由于你的美对我失信义。
  
四二

你占有她,并非我最大的哀愁,
但是我对她的爱不能说不深;
她占有你,才是我首要的烦忧,
这爱情的丢失更能使我悲伤。
爱的得罪者,我这样宽恕你们:
你所以爱她,由于知道我爱她;
也是为我的原故她把我诈骗,
让我的朋友替我周到招待她。
失掉你,我所失是我情人所获,
失掉她,我朋友却找着我所失;
你俩相互找着,而我失掉两个,
两个都为我的原故把我磨折:
  但这便是快乐:你和我是一体;
  甜美的阿谀!她却只爱我自己。
  
四三

我眼睛闭得最紧,看得最亮堂:
它们整天只看见无味的东西;
而当我入眠,梦中却向你凝睇,
幽暗的火焰,暗地里放射幽辉。
你的影子既能教黑影放光亮,
对闭上的眼照射得那么光芒,
你影子的形会构成怎样的美景,
在清明的白日里用更清明的光!
我的眼睛,我说,会感到多走运
若能够凝睇你在青天白日中,
已然在死夜里你那不彻底的影
对熟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现!
  
四四

假设我这蠢笨的体质是思维,
不做美的间隔就不能阻挠我,
由于我就会从那迢迢的远方,
不论多阻隔,被带到你的寓所。
那么,纵使我的腿站在那离你
最远的天边,对我有什么阻碍?
空灵的思维不论想抵达哪里,
它立刻能够飞越崇山和大海。
但是唉,这思维毒杀我:我并非思维,
能飞越辽远的万里当你去后;
而仅仅满盛着泥水的钝皮郛,
就只好用悲泣去把韶光服侍;
  这两种重浊的元素毫无所赐
  除了眼泪,二者的苦恼的标志。
  
四五

其他两种,轻清的风,净化的火,
一个是我的思维,一个是愿望,
都是和你一同,不论我居何所;
它们又在又不在,神速地交游。
由于,当这两种较轻捷的元素
带着爱情的温顺任务去见你,
我的生命,本赋有四大,只守住
两个,就不胜其郁闷,奄奄待毙;
直到生命的结合得彻底康复
由于这两个灵敏使者的来归。
它们现正从你那里回来,欣悉
你起居康吉,在向我欣欣安慰。
  说完了,我乐,但是并不很耐久,
  我打发它们回去,立刻又担忧。
  
四六

我的眼和我的心在作殊死战,
怎样去把你姣好的容貌分赃;
眼儿要把心和你的形象间隔,
心儿又不甘心把这权力相让。
心儿宣称你在它的深处潜隐,
从没有明眸闯得进它的宝箱;
被告却把这申辩坚决地否定,
说是你的倩影在它里边保藏。
为处理这悬案就不得不约请
我心里悉数的住户--思维--洽谈;
它们的一同的判词总算决议
明眸和亲挚的心应得的重量
  如下:你的表面归于我的眼睛,
  而我的心占有你心里的爱情。
  
四七

现在我的眼和心缔结了同盟,
为的是相互帮助和相互救助:
当眼儿巴望要一见你的尊容,
或痴情的心快要给叹息窒息,
眼儿就把你的画像大摆筵桌,
约请心去参与这图像的盛宴;
有时分眼睛又是心的座上客,
去把它缠绵的情思平均分沾:
这样,或靠你的像或我的留恋,
你自己虽远离仍是和我在一同;
你不能比我的情思走得更远,
我老跟着它们,它们又跟着你;
  或许,它们倘睡着,我眼中的像
  就把心唤醒,使心和眼都酣畅。
  
四八

我是多么当心,在未上路之前,
为了留以备用,把琐碎的事物
逐个锁在箱子里,使得到稳妥,
不致被一些奸滑的手所亵渎!
但你,比起你来珠宝也成废品,
你,我最亲最好和仅有的挂念,
无上的慰安(现在是最大的悲伤)
却留下来让每个窃匪任意拿。
我没有把你锁进任何稳妥箱,
除了你不在的当地,而我觉得
你在,那便是我的温暖的心房,
从那里你能够随意进进出出;
  便是在那里我还怕你被偷走:
  看见这样瑰宝,忠实也变窃匪。
  
四九

为反抗那一天,要是终有那一天,
当我看见你对我的缺点蹙额,
当你的爱已花完最终一文钱,
被周详的顾忌催去清算账目;
为反抗那一天,当你像生客走过,
不必那太阳--你眼睛--向我致候,
当爱情,已改动了相貌,要网罗
种种有必要决绝的严厉的理由;
为反抗那一天我就躲在这儿,
在对自己的恰当评价内安身,
并且高举我这只手当众立誓,
为你的种种合法的理由确保:
  扔掉不幸的我,你有法令确保,
  已然为什么爱,我无理由可讲。
  
五○

多么沉重地我在旅途上行进,
当我的意图地(我倦旅的结尾)
教唆闲适和歇息这样对我说:
"你又脱离了你的朋友那么远!"
那驮我的畜牲,经不起我的忧厄,
驮着我心里的重负慢慢地走,
如同这畜牲凭某种天分知道
它主人不爱快,由于离你远游:
有时恼怒用那血淋淋的靴钉
猛刺它的皮,也不能把它敦促;
它仅仅沉重地报以一声嗟叹,
关于我,比刺它的靴钉还要严酷,
  由于这嗟叹使我醒悟和熟筹:
  我的担忧在前面,快乐在后头。
  
五一

这样,我的爱就可宽恕那笨兽
(当我脱离你),不嫌它走得太慢:
从你地点地我何须仓促跑走?
除非是归来,肯定不必把路赶。
那时不幸的畜牲怎会得宽恕,
当极点的敏捷还要显得弛禁?
那时我就要猛刺,纵使在御风,
如飞的速度我只觉得是中止:
那时就没有马能和愿望齐驱;
因此,愿望,由最理想的爱构成,
就引颈长嘶,当它火似地奔驰;
但爱,为了爱,将这样宽恕那畜牲:
  已然别你的时分它有意慢走,
  归途我就下来跑,让它得自在。
  
五二

我像那财主,他那走运的钥匙
能把他带到他的心爱的瑰宝,
但是他并不肯常常把它启视,
避免磨钝那可贵的尖利的快感。
所以过节是那么庄重和希有,
由于在一年中仅疏疏地来临,
就像宝石在首饰上稀稀嵌就,
或大颗的珍珠在璎珞上晶亮。
相同,那保存你的韶光就如同
我的宝箱,或装着华服的衣橱,
以便偶一重展那被囚的宝光,
使一些美好的良辰格外美好。
  你真命运,你的美德能够使人
  有你,喜洋洋,你不在,不胜神往。
  
五三

你的实质是什么,用什么形成,
使得万千个倩影都追跟着你?
每人都只需一个,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;
尽量把美容术施在海伦颊上,
便是你披上希腊妆的新的真身。
一提起春的明丽和秋的富饶,
一个把你的绰丽的倩影显现,
另一个却是你的大方的描写;
悉数天然生成的俊美都蕴含着你。
  悉数外界的妩媚都有你的份,
  但谁都没有你那颗坚贞的心。
  
五四

哦,美看起来要更美得多少倍,
若再有真加给它温馨的装潢!
玫瑰花很美,但咱们觉得它更美,
由于它吐出一缕甜美的芳香。
野蔷薇的姿色也是相同旖旎,
比起玫瑰的芳馥四溢的姣颜,
同挂在树上,相同会做作风骚,
当夏天呼息使它的嫩蕊轻展:
但它们仅有的美德只在色相,
开时无人留恋,萎谢也无人理;
孤寂地死去。香的玫瑰却两样;
她那温馨的死能够变成香液:
  你也如此,美丽而心爱的芳华,
  当年光岁月雕谢,诗提取你的纯精。
  
五五

没有云石或王公们金的石碑
能够和我这些微弱的诗比寿;
你将永久闪烁于这些诗歌里,
远胜过那被韶光涂脏的石头。
当着严酷的战役把铜像推翻,
或内讧把城池荡成一片废墟,
不论战神的剑或战役的烈焰
都毁不掉你的遗芳的活前史。
打破逝世和埋没悉数的仇视,
你将昂然站起来:对你的赞许
将在万世万代的眼睛里照射,
直到这国际耗费完了的末日。
  这样,直到最终审判把你唤醒,
  你长在诗里和情人眼里辉映。
  
五六

温顺的爱,康复你的劲:别被说
你的刀锋赶不上胃口那样快,
胃口只今日饱餐后暂觉满意,
到明日又照常相同饕餐起来:
愿你,爱呵,也相同:你那双饿眼
虽然今日已饱看到腻得直眨,
明日还得看,别让长时刻的瘫痪
把那爱情的精灵敏生生窒煞:
让这苍凉的间歇恰像那间隔
两岸的海洋,那里一对情侣
每天到岸边相会,当他们看见
爱的来归,心里感到加倍欢愉;
  否则,唤它做冬季,充溢了忧悒,
  使夏至三倍受欢迎,三倍希奇。
  
五七

已然是你奴隶,我有什么可做,
除了时时刻刻服侍你的愿望?
我毫无名贵的时刻可消磨,
也无事可做,直到你有所驱遣。
我不敢骂那连绵无尽的时刻,
当我为你,主人,把时辰来看守;
也不敢抱怨分别是多么严酷,
在你现已把你的家丁辞退后;
也不敢用吃醋的想法去探求
你终究在哪里,或许为什么繁忙,
仅仅,像个不幸的奴隶,呆想着
你地点的当地,人们会多美好。
  爱这白痴是那么无救药的呆
  凭你随心所欲,他都不觉得坏。
  
五八

那使我做你奴隶的神不容我,
假设我要控制你行乐的韶光,
或许清算你怎样把日子消磨,
已然是奴隶,就得遵从你放浪:
让我忍受,已然什么都得依你,
你那自在的离弃(于我是监牢);
让忍受,惯了,接受每一次训斥,
绝不会抱怨你对我危害分毫。
不论你快乐到哪里,你那契约
那么有用,你自有肯定的主权
去分配你的时刻;你犯的罪过
你也有主权随意把自己赦宥。
  我只能等候,虽然等候是阴间,
  不责怪你行乐,任它是善或恶。
  
五九

假设全国无新事,现在的种种
早年都有过,咱们的脑筋多受骗,
当它苦心要发明,却怀孕成功
一个前代有过的婴孩的重担!
哦,期望前史能用回溯的眼光
(纵使太阳现已运行了五百周),
在古书里对我显现你的肖像,
自从心灵第一次写成了句读!--
让我知道古人早年怎样说法,
关于你那雍容的身形的奇特;
是咱们高超,仍是他们优胜,
或许所谓演化其实并无二致。
  哦,我敢肯定,不少文人在前代
  早年赞扬过远不如你的体裁。
  
六○

像波浪滔滔不息地滚向沙滩:
咱们的岁月息息奔赴着结尾;
后浪和前浪不断地循环替换,
前推后拥,一个个在奋勇当先。
生辰,一度呈现于光亮的金海,
匍匐到壮年,然后,既登上极顶,
凶冥的日蚀便遮没它的荣耀,
韶光又撕毁了它早年的赠品。
韶光戳破了芳华颊上的光艳,
在美的前额挖下深陷的壕沟,
天然的至珍都被它任意狂喊,
悉数耸立的都难逃它的镰刀:
  但是我的诗未来将耸峙千古,
  讴歌你的美德,不论它多严酷!

六一

你是否成心用影子使我垂垂
欲闭的眼睛睁向厌厌的长夜?
你是否要我翻来覆去不成寐,
用你的影子来戏弄我的视界?
那但是从你那里派来的魂灵
远离了家乡,来探听我的行为,
来找我的旷费和羞耻的时辰,
和履行你的吃醋的职权和规模?
不呀!你的爱,虽多,并不那么大:
是我的爱使我打开我的眼睛,
是我的真情把我的睡觉打垮,
为你的原因一夜守候到天明!
  我为你守夜,而你在别处清醒,
  远远背着我,和他人却太接近。
  
六二

自爱这罪恶占有着我的眼睛,
我整个的魂灵和我身体各部;
而对这罪恶什么药石都无灵,
在我心内扎根扎得那么深固。
我信赖我自己的端倪最秀美,
情绪最坦率,胸襟又那么俊伟;
我的长处对我这样估量自己:
不论哪一方面我都鹤立鸡群。
但当我的镜子照出我的底细,
全被那焦黑的晚年剁得稀烂,
我关于自爱又有相反的感触:
这样溺爱着自己实在是罪愆。
  我讴歌自己就等于把你讴歌,
  用你的芳华来粉刷我的寒冬。
  
六三

像我现在相同,我爱人将不免
被韶光的棘手所破坏和耗费,
其时辰吮干他的血,使他的脸
布满了皱纹;当他韶年的清朝
现已爬到晚年的?f岩的黑夜,
使他所占有的悉数风流逸韵
都逐渐消除或现已悉数消除,
偷走了他的春天悉数的至珍;
为那时分我现在就厉兵秣马
去反抗泼辣韶光的严酷利刃,
使他无法把我爱的芳香抹煞,
虽则他能够砍断我爱的生命。
  他的丰韵将在这些诗里现形,
  墨迹长在,而他也将万古长存。
  
六四

当我目睹前代的绮丽和豪华
被韶光的手毫不留情地消灭;
当高耸的塔我目睹沦为碎瓦,
连永存的铜也不免一场浩劫;
当我目睹那欲壑难填的大海
一步一步把岸上的国土腐蚀,
浩瀚的水又逐渐被陆地掩盖,
失既变成了得,得又变成了失;
当我看见这悉数扰攘和废兴,
或许连废兴一旦也荡然无存;
消灭便教我一再这样地检讨:
韶光终要跑来把我的爱带走。
  哦,多么丧命的思维!它只能够
  哭着去把那刻刻怕失掉的占有。
  
六五

已然铜、石、或大地、或无边的海,
没有不屈服于那阴惨的无常,
美,她的生机比一朵花还柔脆,
怎能和他那肃杀的严峻反抗?
哦,夏天温馨的呼息怎能支撑
严酷的日子刻刻强烈的轰炸,
当岩石,不论多么么险固,或钢扉,
不论多刚强,都要被韶光熔化?
哦,骇人的思维!韶光的珍饰,
唉,怎能够不被收进韶光的宝箱?
什么劲手能挽他的捷足回来,
或许谁能制止他把美丽夺抢?
  哦,没有谁,除非这奇观有力气:
  我的爱在翰墨里永久放光芒。
  
六六

厌了这悉数,我向安眠的死呼喊,
比如,目睹天才注定做叫化子,
无聊的草包打扮得衣冠楚楚,
纯真的信义不幸而被人背离,
金冠可耻地戴熟行尸的头上,
童贞的贞节遭受坏人的玷辱,
严厉的正义被人不合法地诟让,
勇士被当权的跛子弄成残损,
愚笨摆起博士架子驾御才干,
艺术被官府控制得结舌箝口,
憨厚的真诚被人瞎称为愚笨,
囚犯"善"不得不把统帅"恶"服侍:
  厌了这悉数,我要脱离人寰,
  但,我一死,我的爱人便孑立。
  
六七

唉,我的爱为什么要和臭腐同居,
把他的绰丽的丰姿让人亵渎,
致使罪恶得以和他结成伴侣,
涂上纯真的表面来眩耀耳目?
哄人的脂粉为什么要替他写真,
从他的奕奕神采盗取死形似?
为什么,已然他是玫瑰花的真身,
不幸的美还要找玫瑰的影子?
为什么他得活着,当造化破了产,
短少鲜血去灌注淡红的头绪?
由于造化现在只需他作富源,
自诩赋有,却靠他的获利过活。
  哦,她保藏他,为使荒歉的今日
  知道早年曾有过怎样的熟年。
  
六八

这样,他的朱颜是古代的图志,
那时美开了又谢像今日花相同,
那时冒牌的艳色还未曾出生,
或未敢揭露高据活人的额上,
那时死者的美发,坟墓的产业,
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:
这纯真的古代在他身上呈现,
光秃秃的真容,毫无一点铅华,
不必他人的翠绿做他的夏天,
不掠夺旧脂粉妆饰他的鲜花;
  就这样造化把他当图志保藏,
  让假艺术欣赏古代美的底细。
  
六九

你那众目共睹的无瑕的芳容,
谁的心思都不能再加以增改;
众口,魂灵的声响,都共同附和:
赤的真理,连仇敌也无法掩盖。
这样,表面的赞扬载满你表面;
但同一声响,既致应有的敬重,
便另换口吻去把这赞扬勾消,
当心灵看到眼看不到的心里。
它们向你那魂灵的美的海洋
用你的操行作测量器去探求,
所以小气的思维,眼睛虽大方,
便加给你的鲜花以野草的恶臭:
  为什么你的香味赶不上外观?
  土壤是这样,你天然长得普通。
  
七○

你受人指责,并不是你的瑕疵,
由于美丽永久是诋毁的目标;
美丽的无上的装修便是猜忌,
像乌鸦在最晴朗的天空翱翔。
所以,检核些,毁谤只能更恭维
你的美德,已然韶光对你钟情;
由于恶蛆独爱那甜美的嫩蕊,
而你的正是纯真无瑕的初春。
你现已跳过年青日子的匿伏,
或未遭遇突击,或已战胜敌手;
但是,对你这样的赞许并缺乏
堵住那不断扩展的妒忌的口:
  若没有猜忌把你的清光讳饰,
  多少个心灵的王国将归你独占。
  
七一

我死去的时分别再为我沉痛,
当你听见那沉重惨痛的葬钟
普告给全国际说我现已脱离
这龌龊国际去伴最龌龊的虫:
不呀,当你读到这诗,别再记起
那写它的手;由于我爱到这样,
甘心被遗忘在你甜美的心里,
假设想起我会使你不胜哀伤。
假设呀,我说,假设你看见这诗,
那时分或许我现已化作泥土,
连我这不幸的姓名也别提起,
期望你的爱与我的生命同腐。
  以免这聪明国际猜透你的心,
  在我死去后把你也当作笑柄。
  
七二

哦,以免这国际要强逼你自招
我有什么长处,使你在我身后
仍旧爱我,爱人呀,把我全遗忘,
因外我一点值得提的都没有;
除非你伪造出一些美丽的谎,
过火为我揄扬我应有的价值,
把瞑目长逝的我阿谀和夸奖,
远超过小气的现实所愿昭示:
哦,怕你的真爱因此显得虚伪,
怕你为爱的原故替我说假话,
愿我的姓名永久和肉体同埋,
以免活下去把你和我都羞煞。
  由于我不幸的著作使我羞惭,
  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天,
当黄叶,或尽脱,或只三三两两
挂在蜷缩的枯枝上索索抖颤--
旷费的歌坛,那里百鸟曾合唱。
在我身上你或许会看见暮霭,
它在日落后向西方缓缓衰退:
黑夜,死的化身,逐渐把它赶开,
严静的安眠笼住纷纭的万类。
在我身上你或许全看见余烬,
它在芳华的寒灰里岌岌可危,
在惨白灵床上迟早总要断魂,
给那滋补过它的烈焰所销毁。
  看见了这些,你的爱就会加强,
  由于他转眼要辞你溘然长往。
  
七四

但是定心吧:当那无情的拘票
总算一点点不宽假地把我带走,
我的生命在诗里将仍然长保,
永生的纪念品,永久和你相守。
当你重读这些诗,就等于重读
我献给你的至纯无二的生命:
尘土只能有它的份,那便是尘土;
魂灵却属你,这才是我的真身。
所以你不过错掉生命的糟粕
(当我肉体身后),恶蛆们的食饵,
无赖的刀下一个怯弱的抓获,
太低微的秽物,不配被你回忆。
  它仅有的价值就在它的内蕴,
  那便是这诗:这诗将和它长存。
  
七五

我的心需求你,像生命需求粮食,
或许像大地需求及时的甘霖;
为你的安定我心里那么凄惶
就像贪夫和他的财富作斗争:
他,有时自诩财主,然后又顾忌
这惯窃的年代会偷他的财宝;
我,有时觉得最好单独伴着你,
遽然又觉得该把你当众夸耀:
有时饱餐秀色后腻到化不开,
逐渐地又饿得慌要瞟你一眼;
既不占有也不寻求其他愉快,
除去那你已施或要施的膏泽。
  这样,我整天垂涎或整天不消化,
  我饥不择食,或一点也咽不下。
  
七六

为什么我的诗那么缺新荣耀,
赶不上现代善变多姿的风气?
为什么我不学时人旁征博采
那竞奇斗艳,穷妍极巧的新腔?
为什么我写的一向别无二致,
寓情思旨趣于一些老调陈言,
几乎每一句都说出我的姓名,
走漏它们的身世,它们的来历?
哦,须知道,我爱呵,我只把你描,
你和爱情便是我仅有的主题;
移风易俗是我的无上的窍门,
我把开支过的,不断从头开支:
  由于,正如太阳天天新天天旧,
  我的爱把说过的事絮絮不休。
  
七七

镜子将告知你朱颜怎样消逝,
日规怎样一秒秒耗去你的华年;
这白纸所要记载的你的心迹
将教你细细玩味下面的教言。
你的镜子所忠实反映的皱纹
将令你记起那打开口的坟墓;
从日规上暗影的潜移你将认清,
韶光走向永劫的悄然的脚步。
看,把回忆所不能保存的东西
交给这张白纸,在那里边你将
看见你精力的产儿遭到育婴,
使你从头知道你心灵的底细。
  这些日课,只需你常拿来重温,
  将有利于你,并丰厚你的书本。
  
七八

我常常把你当诗神向你祷告,
在诗里找到那么有力的神助,
致使凡生疏的笔都把我效法,
在你名义下把他们的诗分布。
你的眼睛,曾教会哑巴们歌唱,
曾教会沉重的愚蠢高飞上天,
又把新茸毛加给博学的翅膀,
加给彬彬有礼以两重的庄严。
但是我的诗应该最使你骄傲,
它们的诞生全在你的感化下:
对他人的著作你只润饰风格,
用你的美在他们才调上添花。
  但关于我,你便是我悉数艺术,
  把我的愚拙说到博学的高度。
  
七九

开始我单独一个央求你帮忙,
只需我的诗占有你悉数妩媚;
但现在我新鲜的韵律既陈旧,
我的病诗神只好给他人让位。
我供认,爱呵,你这美好的体裁
值得更高超的笔的精写细描;
但是你的诗人不过向你还账,
他把夺自你的当作他的发明。
他赐你美德,美德这词他只从
你的行为盗取;他加给你秀妍,
其实从你颊上得来;他的讴歌
没有一句不是从你身上发见。
  那么,请别感谢他对你的称誉,
  已然他只把欠你的向你偿还。
  
八○

哦,我写到你的时分多么泄气,
得知有更大的天才使用你姓名,
他不吝费尽力气去把你赞许,
使我箝口结舌,一提起你名誉!
但你的价值,像海洋相同无边,
不论轻舟或兵舰相同能载起,
我这鲁莽的艇,虽然小得不幸,
也向你苍茫的海心斗胆行进。
你最浅的滩濑已足使我浮泛,
而他岸肃然驶向你万顷浩瀚;
或许,假设覆灭,我仅仅片轻帆,
他却是结构雄伟,精神抖擞:
  假设他安全抵达,而我遭失利,
  最不幸的是:毁我的是我的爱。

八一

不论我将活着为你写墓志铭,
或你未亡而我已在地下迂腐,
纵使我已被遗忘得一尘不染,
死神将不能把你的忆想夺走。
你的姓名将从这诗里得永生,
虽然我,一去,对人世便等于死;
大地只能够给我一座乱葬坟,
而你却将长埋在人们眼睛里。
我这些小诗便是你的纪念碑,
未来的眼睛当然要百闻不厌,
未来的舌头也即将传诵不衰,
当现在呼吸的人已瞑目长逝。
  这微弱的笔将使你活在气愤
  最繁荣的当地,在人们的嘴里。
  
八二

我供认你并没有和我的诗神
结同心,因此能够一点点无愧恧
去俯览那些把你作主题的诗人
对你的赞许,奖励着每本诗集。
你的才智和姿色都相同拔尖,
又发觉你的价值比我的赞许高,
因此你不得不到别处去追寻
这跨进年代的更生动的描写。
就这么办,爱呵,但当他们既已
使尽了虚浮的辞藻把你刻划,
真美的你只能由真诚的至交
用真朴的话把你实在地表达;
  他们的浓脂粉只配拿去染红
  贫血的脸颊;关于你却是乱用。
  
八三

我从不觉得你需求涂脂荡粉,
因此从不必脂粉涂你的朱颜;
我发觉,或认为发觉,你的丰韵
远超过诗人献你的无味缠绵:
因此,关于你我的歌只装打盹,
好让你自己生动地言传身教,
证明时下的文笔是多么粗笨,
想把美德,你身上的美德增华。
你把我这沉默沉静认为我的罪过,
其实却应该是我最大的荣光;
由于我不出声于美一点点无损,
他人想给你生命,反把你掩埋。
  你的两位诗人所仿照的赞许,
  远不如你一只慧眼所藏的光芒。
  
八四

谁说得最好?哪个说得更满意
比起这丰美的赞词:"只需你是你"?
这赞词蕴藏着你的悉数财物,
谁和你争妍,就有必要和它比较。
那枝文笔实在是瘠薄得不幸,
假设它不能把体裁稍事增华;
但谁写到你,只需他能够体现
你便是你,他的故事已够巨大。
让他只照你原稿忠实地直抄,
别把造化的新鲜的素描弄坏,
这样的摹本已显出他的奇妙,
使他的风格处处受人们崇拜。
  你将对你美的祝愿加以咒诅:
  太爱人赞许,连美也变成庸俗。
  
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,
用金笔刻成光芒耀眼的大字,
和通过悉数艺神雕琢的名言。
我满腔热忱,他们却善颂善祷;
像不识字的牧师只知喊"阿门",
去呼应文人们用精粹的笔调
熔铸成的每一首赞许的歌咏。
听见人赞许你,我说,"确实,很对",
凭他们怎样讴歌我总嫌不行;
但只在心里说,由于我对你的爱
虽拙于词令,举动却永久带头。
  那么,请敬他们,为他们的虚文;
  敬我,为我的哑口无言的真诚。
  
八六

是否他那雄壮的诗句,昂昂然
扬帆直驶去攫取太名贵的你,
使我老练的思维在脑里流产,
把孕育它们的胎盘变成墓地?
是否他的心灵,从鬼魂学会写
超凡的警句,把我活生生殛毙?
不,既不是他自己,也不是黑夜
遣送给他的帮手,能使我昏倒。
他,或他那个和蔼可亲的鬼魂
(它夜夜用机敏骗他),都不能骄傲
是他们把我打垮,使我默不出声;
他们的要挟绝不能把我吓倒。
  但当他的诗充溢了你的鼓舞,
  我就要缺创意;这才使我泄气。
  
八七

再见吧!你太名贵了,我无法高攀;
显着你也知道你自己的声价:
你的价值的证券够把你赎还,
我对你的债务只好悉数作罢。
由于,不经你同意,我怎能占有你?
我哪有福分消受这样的瑰宝?
这美惠关于我已然毫无根据,
便不得不撤销我的专利执照。
你曾许了我,由于轻视了自己,
否则就错识了我,你的受赐者;
因此,你这份厚礼,既出自误解,
就偿还给你,通过更好的判定。
  这样,我曾占有你,像一个美梦,
  在梦里称王,醒来仅仅一场空。
  
八八

当你有一全国决心瞧我不起,
用侮蔑的眼光衡量我的轻重,
我将站在你那儿冲击我自己,
证明你贤德,虽然你现已背盟。
对自己的缺点我既那么熟行,
我将为你的利益伪造我种种
无人察觉的过错,把自己中伤;
使你扔掉了我反而得到荣耀:
而我也能够借此而大有收成;
由于我悉数情思那么倾向你,
我为自己所招惹的悉数凌辱
既对你有利,对我就加倍有利。
  我那么诚心属你,我爱到那样,
  为你的美誉愿承担悉数诋毁。
  
八九

说你扔掉我是为了我的过错,
我立刻会对这得罪加以阐说:
叫我做瘸子,我立刻两脚都?,
对你的理由绝不作任何辩驳。
为了替你的重复无常找托言,
爱呵,凭你怎样凌辱我,总比不上
我凌辱自己来得凶猛;既看透
你心肠,我就要绞杀友谊,伪装
路人避开你;你那心爱的姓名,
那么香,将永不挂在我的舌头,
生怕我,太亵渎了,会把它冤枉;
假设还会把咱们的旧欢走漏。
  我为你将展尽辩才对立自己,
  由于你所憎恨的,我绝不珍惜。
  
九○

恨我,假使你快乐;请现在就开首;
现在,当全国际都起来和我刁难,
请顺势为命运助威,逼我垂头,
别意外地走来作过后的炸毁。
唉,不要,当我的心已脱节烦恼,
来为一个已战胜的厄难作殿,
不要在暴风后再来一个雨朝,
把那注定的浩劫的来临延迟。
假设你要脱离我,别比及最终,
当其他的烦忧现已肆尽凶狠;
请一开始就来:让我好先尝够
命运的威望包罗万象的凶暴。
  所以其他苦痛,现在显得苦痛,
  比起损失你来便要无影无踪。
  
九一

有人夸耀家世,有人夸耀技巧,
有人夸耀财富,有人夸耀膂力;
有人夸耀新妆,丑怪虽然时尚;
有人夸耀帮凶,有人夸耀骏骥;
每种嗜好都各饶特别的兴趣,
每一种都各自认为其乐无量:
但是这些嗜好都不合我口胃--
我把它们融入更大的趣味中。
你的爱对我比家世还要豪华,
比财富还要充盈,比艳妆荣耀,
它的趣味远胜过帮凶和快马;
有了你,我便能够笑傲全国际:
  只需这点不幸:你随时可免除
  我这悉数,使我成无比的不幸。
  
九二

但虽然你不管悉数悄悄溜走,
直到生命结尾你仍是归于我。
生命也不会比你的爱更耐久,
由于生命只靠你的爱才干活。
因此,我就不必怕最大的灾祸,
已然最小的已足置我于死地。
我瞥见一个对我更美好的境地,
它不会跟着你的爱憎而搬运:
你的重复再也不能使我颓废,
已然你一反脸我生命便结束。
哦,我找到了多么美好确实保:
美好地享用你的爱,美好地死去!
  但人世哪有不怕玷污的圆满?
  你能够变心肠,一同对我隐秘。
  
九三

所以我将活下去,确认你忠贞,
像上圈套的老公,所以爱的相貌
对我仍旧是爱,虽则已翻了新;
眼睛尽望着我,心儿却在别处:
憎恨既无法存在于你的眼里,
我就无法看出你心肠的改动。
许多人每段假情假义的前史
都在颦眉、蹙额或气色上体现;
但上天造你的时分早已注定
柔情要永久在你的脸上逗留;
不论你的心怎样变幻无凭准,
你眼睛只能倾诉旖旎和温顺。
  你的妩媚会变成夏娃的苹果,
  假设你的美德跟表面不合作。
  
九四

谁有力气危害人而不这样干,
谁不做人认为他们爱做的事,
谁使人动情,自己却石头一般,
严寒、无动于衷,对诱惑能反抗--
谁就恰当地接受上天的恩宠,
长于储藏和保管造化的财富;
他们才是自己美貌的主人翁,
而他人仅仅自己姿色的家奴。
夏天的花把夏天熏得多芳馥,
虽然对自己它只自开又自落,
但是那花若染上鄙俗的病毒,
最贱的野草也比它尊贵得多:
  极香的东西一腐朽就成极臭,
  烂百合花比野草更臭得伤心。
  
九五

羞耻被你弄成多温顺多心爱!
恰像浓郁的玫瑰花心的毛虫,
它把你含苞欲放的美名污败!
哦,多少温馨把你的罪过遮蒙!
那叙说你的生平故事的长舌,
想对你的文娱作淫猥的谈论,
只能用一种赞许口气来斥责:
一提起你姓名,污蔑也变谄佞。
哦,那些罪过找到了多大的华厦,
当它们把你选择来作安乐窝,
在那儿美为污点披上了轻纱,
在那儿触意图悉数都变清和!
  警觉呵,心肝,为你这特权警觉;
  最快的刀被乱用也失掉尖利!
  
九六

有人说你的缺点在年少放纵;
有人说你的魅力在年少风流;
魅力和缺点都多少受人欣赏:
缺点变成添在魅力上的秀美。
宝座上的女王手上戴的戒指,
便是最贱的宝石也受人尊重,
相同,那在你身上呈现的瑕疵
也变成真理,当作真理被推重。
多少绵羊会遭到野狼的诱惑,
假设野狼戴上了绵羊的相貌!
多少倾慕你的人会被你拐走,
假设你肯把你悉数力气使出!
  可别这样做;我已然这样爱你,
  你是我的,我的荣耀也归于你。
  
九七

脱离了你,日子多么像严冬,
你,飞逝的流年中仅有的欢喜!
天色多昏暗!我又受尽了寒冻!
触目是龙锺腊月的一片萧索!
但是分其他时期刚好是夏天;
和胀大着累累的丰盈的秋天,
满载着芳华的淫荡结下的果实,
如同妊娠的新寡妇,大腹便便:
但是这累累的丰盈,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招待,
你不在,连小鸟也中止了歌唱;
  或许,即便它们唱,腔调那么沉,
  树叶全变灰了,生怕冬季来临。
  
九八

我脱离你的时分正好是春天,
当绚烂的四月,披上新的锦袄,
把生动的春心给万物灌注遍,
连沉重的土星③也跟着笑和跳。
但是不论小鸟的歌唱,或万紫
千红、芳香四溢的一簇簇鲜花,
都不能使我倾诉夏天的故事,
或从烂熳的山洼把它们采掐:
我也不仰慕那百合花的皎白,
也不赞许玫瑰花的一片红晕;
它们不过是香,是顺眼的雕琢,
你才是它们所要摹拟的真身。
  因此,于我仍是严冬,而你不在,
  像逗着你影子,我逗它们畅怀。
  
九九*

我对孟浪的紫罗兰这样斥责:
"温顺贼,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,一朵失望到发白,
另一朵,不红不白,从两边偷来;
还在赃物上添上了你的呼息,
但既犯了偷盗,当它正昂头怒放,
一条怒冲冲的毛虫把它咬死。
  我还看见许多花,但没有一朵
  不从你那里盗取芳香和婀娜。
  
一○○

你在哪里,诗神,竟长时刻遗忘掉
把你的悉数力气的源头歌唱?
为什么糟蹋张狂于一些滥调,
耗费你的光去把俗物照亮?
回来吧,健忘的诗神,立刻轻弹
婉转的旋律,换回虚度的岁月;
唱给那诚心倾慕你并把创意
和技巧赐给你的笔的耳朵听。
起来,懒诗神,查看我爱的秀容,
看韶光可曾在那里刻下皱纹;
假设有,就要尽量把变老嘲讽,
使韶光的剽窃处处遭人齿冷。
  快使爱成名,趁韶光未下手前,
  你就挡得住它的风刀和霜剑。

一○一

偷闲的诗神呵,你将怎样弥补
你对那被美烘托的真的慢待?
真和美都与我的爱相依相守;
你也相同,要依靠它才得通显。
说吧,诗神;你或许会这样答复:
"真的固定色彩不必用色彩绘;
美也不必翰墨把美的真容画;
用不着搀和,完美永久是完美。"
莫非他不需求赞许,你就不出声?
别替沉默沉静辩解,由于你有力气
使他比镀金的坟墓更享遐龄,
并在未来的年代永受人赞扬。
  见义勇为吧,诗神,我要教你怎样
  使他往后和现在相同受慕名。
  
一○二

我的爱加强了,虽然看来更弱;
我的爱相同热,虽然表面稍冷:
谁把他心中的崇拜处处传达,
就等于把他的爱情看作产品。
咱们那时才新恋,又合理春天,
我惯用我的歌去欢迎它来归,
像夜莺在夏天门前今夜清啭,
到了盛夏的日子便中止歌吹。
并非现在夏天没有那么惬意
比起万籁静听它哀唱的时分,
只为狂欢的音乐载满每一枝,
太普通,意味便没有那么深悠。
  所以,像它,我有时也静静无言,
  以免我的歌,太繁了,使你烦厌。
  
一○三

我的诗神的产品多匮乏不幸!
清楚有无限六合可夸耀才调,
但是她的体裁,虽然一无妆点,
比加上我的赞许价值还要大!
别责难我,假设我写不出什么!
照照镜子吧,看你镜中的面孔
多么逾越我的怪蠢笨的发明,
使我的诗失容,叫我问心有愧。
那可不是罪过吗,尽力要增饰,
反而把本来无瑕的体裁涂毁?
由于我的诗并没有其他意图,
除了要仿照你的才思和妩媚;
  是的,你的镜子,当你向它打量,
  所反映的远远多于我的诗章。
  
一○四

关于我,俊友,你永久不会哀老,
由于自从我的眼碰见你的眼,
你仍是相同美。三个严冬摇掉
三个苍翠的夏天的树叶和光艳,
三个阳春三度化作秋天的枯黄。
时序使我三度看见四月的芳香
三度被六月的炎炎烈火烧光。
但你,仍是和初见时相同明丽;
唉,但是美,像时针,它蹑着脚步
移过钟面,你看不见它的踪迹;
相同,你的姣颜,我认为是常驻,
其实在移动,利诱的是我的眼睛。
  颤栗吧,未来的年代,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,
已然悉数我的歌和我的赞许
都献给一个、为一个,永无改换。
我的爱今日仁慈,明日也仁慈,
有着惊人的美德,永久不变心,
所以我的诗也相同坚贞不渝,
全省掉差异,只叙说一件工作。
"美、善和真",便是我悉数的体裁,
"美、善和真",用不同的词句体现;
我的发明就在这改动演出才,
三题一体,它的境地可真无限。
  曩昔"美、善和真"常常各奔前程,
  到今日才在一个人身上和谐。
  
一○六

当我从那湮远的古代的编年
发见那绝代风流人物的写真,
艳色使得陈旧的歌咏也香艳,
颂赞着多情骑士和绝命佳人,
所以,从那些国色天姿的描画,
不论四肢、嘴唇、或眼睛或眉额,
我发觉那些古拙的笔所表达
刚好是你现在所占有的姿色。
所以他们的赞许无非是预言
咱们这年代,悉数都预告着你;
不过他们调查只用梦想的眼,
还不行才调把你讴歌得尽致:
  而咱们,幸而得亲眼看见今日,
  只需眼惊羡,却没有舌头赞叹。
  
一○七

不论我自己的担忧,或那梦想着
未来的这苍茫国际的先知魂灵,
都不能约束我的真爱的租约,
纵使它已注定作命运的赔偿品。
人世的月亮已度过被蚀的灾祸,
不祥的占卜把自己的预言嘲讽,
动乱和疑虑既已获得了稳妥,
平和在宣告橄橄枝永久葱翠。
所以在这年代甘露的遍洒下,
我的爱相貌一新,而死神降伏,
已然我将活在这拙作里,听凭他
把那些弛禁的无言的种族凌辱。
  你将在这儿找着你的纪念碑,
  魔王的金盔和铜墓却被销毁。
  
一○八

脑袋里有什么,翰墨描述得出,
我这颗诚心不现已对你描画?
还有什么新东西可说可记载,
以表达我的爱或许你的真价?
没有,乖乖;但是,忠实的祷词
我没有一天不把它复说一遍;
老话并不老;你属我,我也属你,
就像我祝愿你姓名的头一天。
所以永久的爱在长青爱匣里
不会遭受年岁的危害和尘土,
不会让皱纹占有应有的方位,
反而把老韶光当作永久的家奴;
  发觉开始的爱苗仍旧得保养,
  虽然韶光和表面都盼它枯黄。
  
一○九

哦,千万别抱怨我改动过心肠,
分别虽如同减低了我的热心。
正如我抛不开自己远走他方,
我也一刻离不开你,我的魂灵。
你是我的爱的家:我虽曾漂泊,
现在现已像远行的游子归来;
并按时到家,没有跟韶光改样,
并且把洗刷我污点的水带来。
哦,请千万别信赖(虽然我不免
和他人相同经不起各种试诱)
我的天分会那么荒诞和鄙贱
竟扔掉你这至宝去寻求乌有;
  这无垠的国际对我都是虚幻;
  你才是,我的玫瑰,我悉数产业。
  
逐个○

唉,我确实早年常东奔西跑,
扮作斑衣的小丑供世人赏玩,
违反我的毅力,把至宝贱卖掉,
为了新交不吝把旧知交得罪;
更千真万确我早年斜着冷眼
去看真情;但天呀,这种种离乖
给我的心带来了另一个春天,
最坏的检测证明了你的真爱。
现在悉数都曩昔了,请你接受
无尽的友谊:我不再把愿望磨利,
用新的打听去检测我的老友--
那拘禁我的、钟情于我的神?。
  那么,欢迎我吧,我的人世的天,
  迎候我到你最亲的纯真的胸间。
  
逐个一

哦,请为我把命运的女神诟让,
她是嗾使我形成业障的主犯,
由于她对我的日子别无奉养,
除了养成我粗鄙的世人米饭。
因此我的姓名就把痕迹④接受,
也几乎为了这原因我的天分
被工作所玷污,如同染工的手:
不幸我吧,并祝愿我获得更新;
像个温顺的患者,我甘心饮服
涩嘴的醋来消除我的重感染⑤;
不论它多苦,我将一点不觉苦,
也不辞两重悔过以赎我的罪愆。
  请怜惜我吧,挚友,我向你担保
  你的怜惜现已够把我治疗好。
  
逐个二

你的爱抚抹掉那尘俗的讥谗
打在我的额上的羞耻的痕迹;
他人的毁誉对我有什么相干,
你既表彰我的善又把恶遮隐!
你是我整个国际,我有必要尽力
从你的口里听取我的荣和辱;
我把他人,他人把我,都当作死,
谁能使我的铁心肠变善或变恶?
他人的定见我全扔入了深渊,
那么洁净,我几乎像聋蛇一般,
凭他阿谀或诋毁都不闻不问。
请倾听我怎样宽恕我的冷淡:
  你那么根深柢固长在我心里,
  全国际,除了你,我都认为死去。
  
逐个三

自从脱离你,眼睛便移居心里,
所以那双指挥我举动的眼睛,
既把职守分隔,就成了半瞎子,
自认为还看见,其实现已失明;
由于它们所触摸的任何形状,
花鸟或姿势,都不能再传给心,
自己也留不住把捉到的现象;
悉数过眼的事物心儿都无份。
由于一见粗鄙或幽雅的风光,
最变形的怪物或绝艳的面孔,
山或海,日或夜,乌鸦或许白鸽,
眼睛立刻塑成你美好的姿容。
  心中满是你,什么再也装不下,
  就这样我的诚心教眼睛说假话。
  
逐个四

是否我的心,既把你当王冠戴,
喝过帝王们的鸩毒--自我阿谀?
仍是我该说,我眼睛说的全对,
由于你的爱教会它这炼金术,
使它能够把悉数蛇神和牛鬼
转化为和你相同柔媚的天婴,
把每个丑陋改形成一无是处,
只需事物在它的柔辉下现形?
哦,是前者;是眼睛的自我陶醉,
我巨大的心灵把它一口喝尽:
眼睛知道迎合我心灵的口味,
为它预备好这杯可口的毒饮。
  虽然杯中有毒,罪过总比较轻,
  由于先爱上它的是我的眼睛。
  
逐个五

我早年写的那些诗全都说谎,
连那些说"我喜欢你到极点"在内,
但是那时分我确实无法梦想
白热的火还发得出更大光芒。
只惧怕韶光的很多意外事故
钻进密约间,取消帝王的意旨,
晒黑美色,并挫钝锋锐的妄图,
使顽强的心屈服事物的盛衰:
唉,为什么,既怵于韶光的专横,
我不行说,"现在我喜欢你到极点,"
当我脱节掉疑虑,充溢着决心,
觉得往日不行期,只把握现在?
  爱是婴儿;莫非我不行这样讲,
  去促进在成长中的茸毛丰满?
  
逐个六

我绝不供认两颗诚心的结合
会有任何妨碍;爱算不得真爱,
若是一看见人家改动便转舵,
或许一看见人家转弯便脱离。
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,它所值却无量。
爱不受韶光的播弄,虽然美人
和皓齿不免遭受韶光的棘手;
爱并不因瞬间的改动而改动,
它巍峨矗立直到末日的止境。
  我这话若说错,并被证明不确,
  就算我没写诗,也没人真爱过。
  
逐个七

请这样指控我:说我默不出声,
虽然对你的深恩我应当酬报;
说我遗忘向你缠绵的爱慰劳,
虽然我对你留恋一天天亲近;
说我常常和生疏的心灵交游,
为偶尔机缘就义你名贵友情;
说我不论什么风都把帆高扬,
任它们把我吹到天边海角去。
请把我的顽固和过错都记下,
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明
  你对我的爱多么忠贞和坚决。
  
逐个八

比如咱们为了促进胃口增进,
用种种辛辣调味品影响胃口;
又比如服清泻剂以防备大病,
用较轻的病切断重症的渊源;
相同,饱尝了你的不腻人的甜美,
我选上苦酱来当作我的食料;
讨厌了健康,觉抱病也有意思,
虽然我还没有到患病的必要。
这样,为选用先发制病的方法,
爱的战略变成了实在的过错:
我对健康的身体乱投下药丹,
用苦楚来把过度的美好疗治。
  但我由此获得这实在的经验:
  药也会变毒,谁若因爱你而患病。
  
逐个九

我曾喝下了多少鲛人的泪珠
从我心中阴间般的锅里蒸出来,
把惊骇当期望,又把期望当惊骇,
眼看着要成功,成果仍是失利!
我的心犯了多少不幸的过错,
正好当它自认为再美好不过;
我的眼睛怎样地从眼眶跃出,
当我被张狂昏乱的热病摧残!
哦,坏事变功德!我现在才知道
善确实常常因恶而变得更善!
被炸毁的爱,一旦从头修建好,
就比本来更雄伟、更美、更强顽。
  因此,我受了斥责,反称心如意;
  因祸,我获得曩昔的三倍美好。
  
一二○

你对我狠过心反而于我有利:
想起你其时使我遭到的痛创,
我只好在我的过错下把头低,
已然我的神经不是铜或精钢。
由于,你若受过我决然的摇撼,
像我所受的,该熬过多苦的日子!
但是我这暴君从没有抽过闲
来衡量你的罪过对我的冲击!
哦,期望咱们那悲怛之夜能使我
牢牢记住真沉痛冲击得多惨,
我就会立刻递给你,像你递给我,
那劝慰碎了的心的寒微药丹。
  但你的罪过现在变成了确保,
  我赎你的罪,你也赎我的败行。

一二一

宁可鄙俗,也不肯负鄙俗的虚名,
当咱们的洁白蒙上不白之冤,
当合理的文娱被人妄加恶声,
不体恤咱们的爱情,只凭成见。
为什么他人虚伪淫猥的眼睛
有权赞扬或诋毁我活泼的血?
专侦伺我的缺点而比我坏的人
为什么把我认为善的任意污蔑?
我便是我,他们关于我的诋毁
只能够宣传他们自己的鄙俗:
我本方正,他们的视界自不轨;
这种坏心眼怎样配把我谴责?
  除非他们顽固这模糊的邪说:
  恶是人道,控制着人世的是恶。
  
一二二

你赠我的手册现已一笔一划
永不消灭地刻在我的心版上,
它将逾越无聊的名位的高低,
跨过悉数年代,致使无量无疆:
或许,至少直到大天然的规则
容许心和脑持续存在的一天;
直到它们把你每部分都让给
遗忘,你的回忆将永久不逸散。
不幸的手册就无法那样耐久,
我也不必筹码把你的爱挂号;
所以你的手册我斗胆地放走,
把你交给更能保藏你的册子:
  要靠备忘录才不会把你遗忘,
  岂不等于标明我对你也善忘?
  
一二三

不,韶光,你断不能夸说我在变:
你新建的金字塔,不论多雄壮,
对我一点不稀罕,一点不新鲜;
它们仅仅旧现象披上了新装。
咱们的生命太短暂,所以仰慕
你拿来诈骗咱们的那些旧货;
梦想它们是咱们愿望的产品,
不肯信早年早年有人谈起过。
对你和你的纪录我相同不卖账,
曩昔和现在都不能使我惊讶,
由于你的记载和我所见都说谎,
都多少是你疾驰中造下的孽迹。
  我敢这样立誓:我将万古不渝,
  不论你和你的镰刀多么尖利。
  
一二四

假设我的爱仅仅权势的嫡种,
它就会是命运的无父的私生子,
受韶光的宠辱所磨折和播弄,
同野草闲花一同任人们采刈。
不呀,它并不是建立在偶尔上;
它既不为荣华的笑颜所搬运,
也饱尝得起咱们这年代风气
习认为常的郁闷、愤激的冲击:
它不惧怕那只在短期间有用、
处处散播异端和邪说的权谋,
不因烈日而成长,雨也冲不掉,
它巍峨独立在那里,沉思熟筹。
  被韶光捉弄的人们,起来作证!
  你们一生作恶,却一死得洁净。
  
一二五

这对我何益,纵使我高擎华盖,
用我的表面来为你妆点门面,
或奠下巨大根底,要留芳万代,
其实比荒芜和消灭为期更短?
莫非我没见过拘守表面的人,
支付昂扬的价值,却损失悉数,
厌弃恬淡而搏命去寻求荤辛,
不幸的获利者,在回视中雕谢?
不,请让我在你心里长保忠贞,
收下这份绵薄但由衷的献礼,
它不搀和次品,也不包藏机心,
而仅仅你我间相互致送诚心。
  被收购的告密者,滚开!你越诬告
  真诚的心,越不能危害它分毫。
  
一二六*

你,小乖乖,韶光的无常的沙漏
和时辰(他的小镰刀)都听你左右;
你在亏缺中成长,并昭示群众
你的爱人怎么雕零而你向荣;
假设造化(把握盈亏的大操纵),
在你迈步前进时把你挽回来,
她的意图仅仅:做作她的方法
去丢韶光的脸,并把分秒摧残。
但是你得怕她,你,她的小乖乖!
她只能暂留,并十分保,她的宝物!
她的账目,虽延了期,有必要清算:
要清偿债务,她就得把你交还。

一二七

在远古的年代黑并不算秀俊,
即便算,也没有把美的名挂上;
但现在黑既成为美的承继人,
所以美便招来了凌辱和诋毁。
由于自从每只手都润饰天然,
用艺术的假相貌去美化丑陋,
温馨的美便失掉声价和圣殿,
纵不忍辱偷生,也遭了亵渎。
所以我情妇的头发黑如乌鸦,
眼睛也刚好相衬,就像在哀泣
那些生来不美却诱人的冤家,
用假名声去中伤造化的真誉。
  这哀泣那么合作她们的沉痛,
  我们齐声说:这便是美的真容。
  
一二八

多少次,我的音乐,当你在演奏
音乐,我眼看那些美好的琴键
跟着你那轻盈的手指的撩拨,
宣告动听的旋律,使我魂倒神颠--
我多么艳羡那些琴键轻捷地
跳起来狂吻你那温顺的掌心,
而我不幸的嘴唇,本该有这权力,
只能红着脸对琴键的猖狂入迷!
经不起这引逗,我嘴唇恨不得
做那些舞蹈着的满意小木片,
由于你手指在它们身上轻掠,
使枯木比活嘴唇更值得艳羡。
  莽撞的琴键既由此得到快乐,
  请把手指给它们,把嘴唇给我。
  
一二九

把精力耗费在羞耻的沙漠里,
便是色欲内举动;而内举动前,
色欲赌假咒、嗜血、好杀、浑身是
罪恶,凶横、野蛮、不行靠、走极点;
欢喜尚未央,立刻就感觉无味:
毫不讲理地寻求;但是一到手,
又毫不讲理地讨厌,像是专为
引上钩者发狂而设下的钓钩;
在寻求时张狂,占有时也张狂;
不论已有、现有、未有,全不放松;
感触时,美好;感触完,无上灾殃;
事前,巴望着的欢喜;过后,一场梦。
  这悉数人共知;但谁也不知怎样
  躲避这个引人下阴间的天堂。
  
一三○

我情妇的眼睛一点不像太阳;
珊瑚比她的嘴唇还要红得多:
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;
她颊上却找不到这样的玫瑰;
有许多芳香十分逗引人喜欢,
我情妇的呼吸并没有这香味。
我爱听她说话,但是我很清楚
音乐的动听远胜于她的喉咙;
我供认从没有见过女神走路,
我情妇走路时分却兢兢业业:
  但是,我敢指天立誓,我的爱侣
  胜似任何被捧作天仙的美人。
  
一三一

虽然你不算美,你的凶狠并不
亚于那些因美而专横的女性;
由于你知道我的心那么模糊,
把你当作世上的至美和至珍。
不过,说实话,见过你的人都说,
你的脸短少使爱嗟叹的魅力:
虽然我心中立誓对立这说法,
我可还没有揭露否定的勇气。
当然我发的誓一点也不欺人;
数不完的嗟叹,一想起你的脸,
立刻联翩而来,可认为我作证:
关于我,你的黑胜于悉数秀妍。
  你一点也不黑,除了你的人品,
  或许为了这原故,诋毁才盛行。
  
一三二

我爱上了你的眼睛;你的眼睛
知道你的心用轻视把我磨折,
对我的苦楚标明柔媚的悲悯,
就披上黑色,做旖旎的哭丧者。
而确实,不论天上绚烂的向阳
多么合作那东方苍白的面庞,
或那照射着傍晚的明星煌煌
(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,期望你那颗心也相同为我
挂孝吧,已然丧服能使你增妍,
愿它和全身相同与悲悯合作。
  黑是美的实质(我那时就立誓),
  悉数短少你的色彩的都是丑。
  
一三三

那使我的心嗟叹的心该诅咒,
为了它给我和我的朋友的伤痕!
莫非光是摧残我一个还不行?
还要把朋友贬为奴隶的身分?
你冷漠的眼睛已夺走我自己,
那另一个我你又无情地强占:
我现已被他(我自己)和你扔掉;
这使我遭受三三九倍的磨难。
请用你的铁心把我的心围住,
让我不幸的心保释朋友的心;
不论谁监督我,我都把他捍卫;
你就不能在狱中再对我发狠。
  你还会发狠的,我是你的囚犯,
  我和我的悉数必定任你分配。
  
一三四

因此,现在我既供认他归于你,
并照你的意旨把我当抵押品,
我甘心让你把我没收,好教你
开释另一个我来宽慰我的心:
但你不肯放,他又不肯被开释,
由于你得寸进尺,他心肠又软;
他作为保人签字在那证券上,
为了摆脱我,反而把自己紧拴。
分毫不放过的高利贷者,你即将
行使你的美丽赐给你的特权
去控诉那为我而负债的知交;
所以我失掉他,由于把他诈骗。
  我把他失掉;你却占有他和我:
  他还清了债,我仍然不得摆脱。
  
一三五*

假设女性有满意,你就得如"愿",
还有额定的愿望,多到数不清;
而剩余的我总是要把你羁绊,
想在你愿望的花上添我的锦。
你的愿望浩瀚无边,莫非不能
容我把我的愿望在里边隐埋?
莫非他人的愿望都那么可亲,
而我的愿望就不配你的喜欢?
大海,满满是水,照样接受雨点,
好把它的储藏品大量地添加;
多愿望的你,就该把我的愿望
添上,使你的愿望得到更扩展。
  别让无情的"不"把求爱者窒息;
  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"愿望",
而"愿望",她知道,对她并非生疏;
为了爱,让我的爱如愿吧,心肝。
愿望将充塞你的爱情的瑰宝,
请用愿望充溢它,把我算一个,
须知道庞大的容器十分便利,
多装或少装一个算不了什么。
请容许我混在部队中心进去,
不论怎样说我总是其间之一;
把我看作微末缺乏道,但有必要
把这微末看作你心爱的东西。
  把我姓名当你的爱,一向如一,
  便是爱我,由于"愿望"是我的姓名。
  
一三七

又瞎又蠢的爱,你对我的眸子
干了什么,致使它们视若无睹?
它们认得美,也看见美在那里,
却竟然错把那极恶当作至善。
我的眼睛若受了成见的歪扭,
在那人人行进的海湾里下锚,
你为何把它们的虚妄作成钩,
把我的心的判断力钩得牢牢?
莫非是我的心,明知那是公地,
硬把它当作私家游乐的花园?
仍是我眼睛否定显着的现实,
硬拿美丽的真蒙住丑陋的脸?
  我的心和眼既迷失了真方向,
  天然不得不堕入虚妄的膏肓。
  
一三八

我爱人立誓说她浑身是忠实,
我信赖她(虽然明知她在说谎),
让她认为我是个无知的孩子,
不懂得人世种种哄人的阴谋。
所以我就梦想她当我还年青,
虽然明知我盛年已一去不复返;
她的油腔滑调我天真地信赖:
这样,质朴的真话两边都隐秘。
但是为什么她不供认说假话?
为什么我又不供认我现已变老?
爱的习气是连信赖也成诈骗,
晚年谈恋爱最怕把年纪说到。
  因此,我既诈骗她,她也诈骗我,
  咱俩的爱情就在诈骗中作乐。
  
一三九

哦,别叫我宽恕你的严酷不仁
关于我的心的不公正的得罪;
请用舌头损伤我,可别用眼睛;
狠狠冲击我,杀我,可别耍方法。
说你已爱上了他人;但当我面,
心肝,可别把眼睛向周围张望:
何须要耍方法,已然你的强权
已够打垮我过火严重的反抗?
让我替你辩说明:"我爱人明知
她那明丽的流盼是我的死仇,
才把我的敌人从我脸上搬运,
让它向别处放射害人的毒镞!"
  可别这样;我现已一息奄奄,
  不如一下盯死我,解除了磨难。
  
一四○

你决然,也该放聪明;别让侮蔑
把我不出声的忍受逼得太甚;
以免沉痛赐我喉舌,让你领会
我的不幸的苦楚会怎样发狠。
你若学了乖,爱呵,就觉得理应
对我说你爱我,纵使你不如此;
如同浮躁的患者,当死期已近,
只愿听医师陈述健康的音讯;
由于我若是失望,我就会发疯,
张狂中难保不把你胡乱诅咒:
这怪癖国际是那么不成体统,
张狂的耳总爱听疯子的坏话。
  要我不发疯,而你不遭受诋毁,
  你得把眼睛正视,虽然心放纵。

一四一

说实话,我的眼睛并不喜欢你,
它们发见你身上百孔和千疮;
但眼睛看不起的,心儿却入神,
它一味溺爱,不论眼睛怎样想。
我耳朵也不觉得你嗓音好听,
便是我那简单受影响的触觉,
或味觉,或嗅觉都不见得快乐
参与你身上任何官能的盛酌。
但是不论我五种机敏或五官
都不能劝止痴心去把你服侍,
我昂藏的老公表面它再不论,
只甘心作你高傲的心的奴隶。
  不过我的灾祸也非全无长处:
  她诱惑我违法,也教会我遭受痛苦。
  
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,你只需比一比你我的实情,
就会发觉责怪我多么不应该。
就算应该,也不能出自你嘴唇,
由于它们亵渎过自己的口红,
劫掠过他人床弟应得的租金,
和我相同多次偷订爱的假盟。
我喜欢你,你爱他们,都相同合理,
虽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。
  假设你只知寻求,自己却小气,
  你自己的典范就会招来回绝。
  
一四三

看呀,像一个当心翼翼的主妇
跑着去追撵一只逃走的母鸡,
把孩子扔下,搏命快跑,要捉住
那个她急着要得回来的东西;
被扔下的孩子紧跟在她后头,
哭哭啼啼要赶上她,而她只管
望前一向追撵,一步也不逗留,
不管她那不幸的小孩的不满:
相同,你追那个躲避你的家伙,
而我(你的孩子)却在后头追你;
你若赶上了期望,请回头照料我,
尽妈妈的本分,轻轻吻我,很和气。
  只需你回头来劝慰我的悲泣,
  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,
一个叫安慰,别的一个叫失望:
善的天使是个男人,丰姿绰丽;
恶的鬼魂是个女性,其貌不扬。
为了促进我早进阴间,那女鬼
诱惑我的善精灵硬把我抛开,
还要把他利诱,使流浪为妖魅,
用龌龊的骄傲寻求纯真的爱。
我的天使是否已变成了恶魔,
我无法一会儿确认,只能猜忌;
但两个都把我扔下,相互结合,
一个想必进了另一个的阴间。
  但是这一点我永久无法猜透,
  除非是恶的天使把善的撵走。
  
一四五

爱神亲手捏就的嘴唇
对着为她而瘦弱的我,
吐出了这声响说,"我恨":
但是她一看见我伤心,
心里就立刻大发慈悲,
责怪那一贯都是用来
宣告甜美的判词的嘴,
教它要把口气改过来:
"我恨",她又把尾巴缝补,
那几乎像亮堂的白日
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

不幸的魂灵,万恶身躯的中心,
被攻击你的背叛实力所俘掳,
为安在私自瘦弱,忍受着饥馑,
却把外壁妆得那么堂皇丽都?
赁期那么短,这倾颓中的大厦
莫非还值得你这样铺张糟蹋?
是否要让蛆虫来承继这豪华,
把它吃光?这但是肉体的依皈?
所以,魂灵,请拿你家丁来度日,
让他消瘦,以便充分你的储藏,
拿无用时刻来兑换永欠租期,
让心里得滋补,甭管表面堂皇:
  这样,你将吃掉那吃人的死神,
  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
那能够使它长时刻保养的单独,
服食一种能保持病状的药散,
使多变的病态胃口耐久盛旺。
理性(那治疗我的爱情的医师)
气愤我不恪守他给我的吩咐,
把我扔下,使我失望,由于不信
医药的愿望,我知道,是条绝路。
我再无生望,已然损失了沉着,
整天都惶惑不安、烦躁、张狂;
不论思维或说话,全像个疯子,
脱离了实在,无意图,乱七八糟;
  由于我曾立誓说你美,说你绚烂,
  你却是阴间一般黑,夜一般暗。
  
一四八

唉,爱把什么眼睛装在我脑里,
使我彻底认不清实在的现象?
竟错判了眼睛所见到的底细?
假设我眼睛所沉迷的真是美,
为何我们都异口同声不供认?
若真不美呢,那就肯定无可讳,
爱情的眼睛不如一般人看得真:
当然喽,它怎能够,爱眼怎能够
看得真呢,它日夜都泪水汪汪?
那么,我看禁绝又怎算得稀有?
太阳也要等天晴才照得亮堂。
  奸刁的爱神!你用泪把我弄瞎,
  只因怕明眼把你的丑陋揭露。
  
一四九

你怎能,哦,决然的,否定我喜欢你,
当我和你协力把我自己讨厌?
我不是在牵挂你,当我为了你
彻底遗忘我自己,哦,我的暴主?
我可曾把那恨你的人当朋友?
我可曾对你讨厌的人献周到?
不只这样,你对我一皱起眉头,
我不是立刻叹息,把自己怨恨?
我还有什么能够骄傲的长处,
高傲到不屑于为你执役奔命,
已然我的美都崇拜你的缺点,
唯你的眼波的流徒搬运是听?
  但,爱呵,虽然憎吧,我已猜透你:
  你爱那些明眼的,而我是瞎子。
  

一五○

哦,从什么威力你获得这力气,
连缺点也能把我的心灵分配?
教我污蔑我牢靠的目光说谎,
并矢口否定太阳使白日明丽?
何来这化臭腐为奇特的身手,
使你的种种丑陋不胜的体现
都具有一种灵敏微弱确实保,
使它们,关于我,逾越悉数至善?
谁教你有方法使我愈加爱你,
当我听到和见到你种种可憎?
哦,虽然我锺爱着人家所厌弃,
你总不应厌弃我,同人家一条心:
  已然你越不心爱,越使得我爱,
  你就该觉得我更值得你喜欢。
  
一五一

爱神太年青,不懂得良知是什么;
但谁不知道良知是爱情所产?
那么,好骗子,就别专找我的错,
以免我的罪把温婉的你也牵连。
由于,你出卖了我,我的笨肉体
又哄我出卖我更尊贵的部分;
我魂灵叮咛我肉体,说它能够
在爱情上成功;肉体再不出声,
一听见你的姓名就立刻指出
你是它的成功品;它得意忘形,
死心蹋地作你最鄙贱的家奴,
任你颐指气使,或倒在你身旁。
  所以我可心安理得地称号她
  做"爱",我为她的爱起来又倒下。
  
一五二

你知道我对你的爱并不行靠,
但你立誓爱我,这话更靠不住;
你撕掉床头盟,又把新约销毁,
既结了新欢,又种下新的憎恨。
但我为什么责怪你两番背盟,
自己却背了二十次!最重复是我;
我对你悉数盟誓都仅仅乱用,
因此关于你现已失尽了信约。
我曾矢口作证你对我的深爱:
说你多火热、多忠实、永不变卦,
我使眼睛失明,好让你显荣耀,
教眼睛立誓,把眼远景说成虚伪--
  我立誓说你美!还有比这荒诞:
  抹煞真理去坚持那么黑的谎!
  
一五三

爱神放下他的火炬,沉沉睡去:
月神的一个仙女乘了这时机
从速把那枝鼓动爱火的火炬
浸入山间一道冷冰冰的泉流;
泉流,既从这崇高的火炬得来
一股不灭的热,就永久在焚烧,
变成了欢腾的泉,一向到现在
还证明具有妙手回春的成效。
但这火炬又在我情妇眼里焚烧,
为了实验,爱神碰一下我胸口,
我立刻不舒服,又烦躁又伤心,
一刻不停地跑向温泉去求救,
  但全不收效:能治好我的温泉
  只需新燃起爱火的、我情人的眼。
  
一五四

小小爱神有一次呼呼地睡着,
把点着心焰的火炬放在一边,
一群蹁跹的贞洁的仙女恰巧
走过;其间最美的一个天仙
用她童贞的手把那早年烧红
万千颗赤心的火炬悄悄拿走,
所以这玩火小法师在熟睡中
便缴械给那贞女的纤纤素手。
她把火炬往邻近冷泉里一浸,
泉流被爱神的烈火烧得欢腾,
变成了温泉,能消除人世百病;
但我呵,被我情妇播弄得头疼,
  跑去温泉就医,才把这点澄清:
  爱烧热泉流,泉流冷不了爱情。

注释
1. 诗神:即诗人,故下面用男性代词"他"字。
2. 其时制作假发的人常常买死人的头发生质料。
3. 土星在西欧星相学里是烦闷和郁闷的标志。
4. 痕迹:羞耻。
5. 其时信赖醋能防疫。

(梁宗岱 译)





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