When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,

And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,

Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,

Will be a tottered weed of small worth held:

Then being asked 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.

四十个冬天将围攻你的额角，

将在你美的田地里挖浅沟深渠，

你青春的锦袍，如今教多少人倾倒，

将变成一堆破烂，值一片空虚。

那时候有人会问：“你的美质——

你少壮时代的宝贝，如今在何方?”

回答是：在你那双深陷的眼睛里，

只有贪欲的耻辱，浪费的赞赏。

要是你回答说：“我这美丽的小孩

将会完成我，我老了可以交账——”

从而让后代把美继承下来，

那你就活用了美，该大受赞扬!

你老了，你的美应当恢复青春，

你的血一度冷了，该再度升温。