We long to grow from the most beautiful creatures,
Therefore, the beautiful rose may never wither,
But with the passage of time, mature people will gradually mature,
His gentle heirs may remember him:
But you use your bright eyes,
Feed your flame of light with self-sufficient fuel,
To create famine in rich places,
You yourself are your enemy, too cruel to your sweet self:
You are now the newest decoration in the world,
Also the only messenger of fancy spring,
Buried in your own buds your content,
And, gentle children, the most wasteful in miserliness:
Poor world, otherwise this gluttonous man,
Eat what the world deserves, by the grave and with you.
Forty winters will besiege your forehead,
Dig deep trenches in your beautiful land,
The proud uniform of your youth is now so gazed,
It will be a tattered weed, worth a lot:
And then be asked, where is all your beauty,
There, all the wealth, your glorious days;
Say, in your deep eyes,
It's all unbearable shame and miserly praise.
Your beauty is more worthy of praise,
If you can answer "I'm this beautiful kid."
I'm going to do my totals and make my previous excuses,'
Prove his beauty with your inheritance.
When you're old, it's going to be new,
When you feel cold, watch your blood warm.
Look at your mirror and tell you the face you see,
Now it's time to make the face another one,
If you don't update now, whoever makes the new fix,
You deceive the whole world and don't hurt some mothers.
Because where she was so beautiful, she had no womb
Despise your farming?
Or was he so fond of who would become the grave
His self-love prevented future generations?
You are the mirror of your mother, and she is in you
Recalling the April of her youth,
So you're going to see through the window of your age,
Despite the wrinkles, this is your golden age.
But if you are not remembered when you are alive,
When you die alone, your image dies with it.