从未见你涂脂抹粉,
你的完美无需妆饰;
我发觉,或是感觉,你远胜,
那诗人能写给你的蹩脚谀辞;
故对你我只能放下笔墨,
让你自己现身来说明;
当下的文笔是多么笨拙,
全然不能说出你的美行;
你因我沉默而将我归罪,
我却说沉默反是我最大的功勋;
我之不言保存了你最真的美,
他人欲令你永生,反将你送入坟茔;
你一双眼所蕴藏的灵气,
便超过了两个诗人给你的颂诗。
Sonnet 83
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.